


you get me dizzy

by denouementt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Marcus wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts, Oliver is a little fragile, Slow Burn, They Make It Work, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:49:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denouementt/pseuds/denouementt
Summary: turning up to his ex-boyfriends wedding without a partner on his arm is something oliver wood refuses to do. which wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't painfully single when the invitation to percy weasley's wedding dropped on his kitchen table one monday morning. with three months to find a love to take as his plus one, oliver seeks out the first person he can find who will agree to fake-date him for an evening. it's just pure coincidence that the person ends up being hawaiian shirt wearing, bar-tending marcus flint.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> more flintwood? who would've guessed. this is just a three part mini-thing full of the three things I love most; fluff, angst & flintwood. also yes this is about the 27437th piece of work I've titled with a harry styles lyric.
> 
> tumblr: scorpiusmlafoy

If Oliver was to be truly honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of young adulthood. The realisation that bills existed, jobs were needed and relationships were _hard_ was a slap in the face he hadn’t necessarily been expecting. He partially blamed his sheltered upbringing for his lack of knowledge about the ‘real world’; his parents’ consistent income as Ministry workers had levitated him above the majority of people he knew, and there was never a point in his life at the family home when he ever thought that money wasn’t a constantly flowing waterfall. But now, living alone in a studio apartment above a corner shop on the outskirts of Dorset, Oliver knew what the ‘real world’ had in store for him.

He was already in a sour mood that _dreadful_ morning, feeling rather sorry for himself as he smashed bowls and mugs on his kitchen counter to sort out his breakfast. He’d overslept, forgotten to buy a fresh pint of milk and had somehow run out of clean shirts even though it was only Monday. Oliver had thought by the time he’d scurried into his kitchen, scrubbing at an ominous stain on one of the off-white shirts he found in his wardrobe, that nothing else would happen today to bring him further into a lull of misery and despair. That was until, just as he was about to Floo to the Puddlemere United training grounds, an owl thundered through his open window, mahogany feathers dripping with raindrops. Oliver had opened the window to listen to the sound of the rain pattering on the pavement, wanting the _pitter patter_ to soothe his burning mind. He hadn’t opened it out of expectation of post; usually, given his work as a Quidditch player, his mail piled up at the training ground, growing higher and higher as he shamelessly ignored every new envelope dropping into his locker. So an owl, bone-dry and opal coloured envelope clutched in his beak, arriving in his own home was a rare sight.

“Hello?” Oliver offered, blinking at the owl. It was a fine owl, beautiful golden eyes looking longingly at Oliver as the envelope slipped onto the table. Oliver rummaged around his kitchen, scavenging a few sickles to toss into the owl’s pouch as he pulled the envelope towards him. _Mr Oliver Wood_ , scribed in a beautiful red ink, painted the surface. He didn’t recognise the exquisite handwriting which, established through Oliver’s few years of adulthood, only meant one thing: a wedding invitation. He assumed there must be something swelling in the air that manipulated every couple into marriage. In the last year he’d played a part in at least seven weddings; Draco and Astoria – a wedding he did not expect an invite to – had held theirs at an Abbey in the heart of the countryside during spring while Harry and Ginny boasted a winter wedding, the church decorated with strings of real icicles and snowflakes leading the way down the aisle.

Oliver tore the envelope open, fingers toying with the end of the expensive-looking parchment as he skimmed the contents of the letter, taking a bite from the only fresh apple he had found in his fruit bowl.

_The joy of your attendance is requested at the marriage of Audrey Lovelady to Percy Ignatius Weasley._

Oliver stopped. A deep inhale sent a slice of apple down his throat, eyes watering as he choked it back up again. He managed to startle the owl, now hooting fearfully back out the window, while creasing the parchment between his fingers. He hadn’t expected that name to decorate the parchment; Oliver didn’t know who he was expecting, but his ex-boyfriend who left him six months ago was not at the top of his list. He took a breath, calming himself with another bite of his apple, then digested the rest of the information. Three months away in June, the service being held in _castle ruins_ with the reception taking place moments away in a manor, dress code: orange. Oliver felt slightly sick at the thought of standing alone at his ex’s wedding, patterns of orange decorating his skin as if labelling him as an almost but _not quite_ Weasley. He couldn’t reject the invitation, though, that would be too obvious that he was still painfully single and lonely.

“You’re overthinking this.” Oliver tried to convince himself, hurrying to fold the parchment back into the envelope. He glanced down at his wristwatch; not only was he going to be attending his ex’s wedding single but he was now twenty minutes late for training. Oliver shoved the letter in his bag, hoisting the strap over his shoulder as he stepped to the foot of his fireplace wondering, with agitated loneliness, exactly _how_ he was going to show his face at Percy Weasley’s wedding.

 ⚡

A few months after the Wizarding War passed Oliver had received a letter from Angelina Johnson suggesting the Gryffindor Quidditch team have monthly reunions at the Three Broomsticks. Friendly faces in a friendly environment, she had written, would remind them of the good times in life. To begin with so many people turned up that Angelina had to start reserving a table for them just to ensure they’d all have a seat however, like most things, as the months dragged on people’s faces slowly stopped appearing. Now only a few of them remained; Oliver arrived every time, greeting the smiling faces of Angelina, Harry, Ginny and Ron without fail. Occasionally Katie and Alicia joined them but, unsurprisingly, marriage and children had clouded their vision and demanded more attention than school friends wanting to relive their youth.

The only thought getting Oliver through the intense training session tainted by the incessant fall of rain was knowing that, in a few hours’ time, he’d be three drinks down in the buzzing Three Broomsticks. He’d somehow managed to push the thought of Percy’s wedding to the back of his mind, focusing entirely on the way he had to grip his broomstick through the blanket of rain to prevent him slipping right off the back of it. His teammates continued to pester him with questions as to why he was late and why his face was paler than usual that morning. Oliver pursued silence, though, managing to escape at the end of practice without telling a single soul about his relationship status crisis. He washed quickly in the changing room showers after an elongated session – punishment, the captain declared, for being twenty minutes late without a valid reason – out of fear he’d be late for a second time that day, this time to The Three Broomsticks.

His bag felt incredibly heavy as he heaved it over his shoulder at the end of practice. The weight of the letter combined with the subsequent weight of all his emotions tied to the name _Percy Weasley_ felt like a pile of bricks were nestled at the base of his bag. He felt like he was hunched over as he stalked to the middle of the pitch to apparate away, the overbearing thought of marriage and relationships and single life forcing his back to curl and face to twist into an expression of distaste and anguish.

“Stop.” Oliver scolded himself, pinching the skin of his wrist to distract himself from the rollercoaster of thoughts spiralling around his mind. He somehow apparated accurately to Hogsmeade; Oliver had half expected to accidentally leave an arm or a leg on the pitch given his lack of concentration but, luckily, he remained in one whole piece as he pushed open the creaking door to The Three Broomsticks.

The late afternoon was a quiet time in the pub; it was too late for the lunchtime rush to be bombarding the stools but still too early for the creatures on a night out to push the tables to the side and start raving on the floorboards. Madam Rosmerta stood behind the bar entertaining a line of too-young, under-aged punters attempting to woo their way a whiskey, tossing a grateful smile in Oliver’s direction as she saw him enter. The gentle bubble of chatter rippled through the pungent air, chairs scraping and laughs sounding as customers conversed and ordered drink after drink after drink. Oliver cast a glance around the room, nodding as he saw where his group were.

In the corner by the bay window sat a bundle of gingers and brunettes, accents blending together as compliments were exchanged and greetings absorbed. The circular table was full save one seat, Oliver’s seat, and the long limbs of the adults contrasted with the small stools and narrow table top. Harry sat next to Ginny, as always, an arm strung lovingly around her shoulders. The wedding rings on their fingers gleamed under the setting sunlight that streamed through the window, the level of love they boasted being matched by the expressions painted on their faces. Ron presented himself next, beside Harry with his sleeves rolled up and scars parading the length of his skin. They looked like a rose red painting of the underground map, overlapping scars seeming to be the different lines intersecting at an array of different stations. Angelina finished the quartet; her eyes seemed tired but her face still glowed with signs of early maternity. He’d received an owl a few months prior announcing her first pregnancy with George and here, her hands smoothing gleefully over her growing bump, Angelina looked at peace with the circumstances of her life.

Oliver sifted between tables to find his seat, reciprocating delicate _hello’s_ and waves as he sat, bag dropping to the floor.

“You’re late,” Angelina commented. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Second time,” Oliver groaned drumming his fingertips over the rickety surface of the table. “I was late for work this morning, too. I’m a changed person.”

“Oliver? Late for a Quidditch game? Something fairly important must have happened for you to miss a second of Quidditch,” Angelina laughed her response, missing the beat of uncomfortable silence that passed between the remaining individuals at the table. She paused at the lack of sound around the table, casting worried glances at everyone’s still faces out of fear she’d offended one of them. And then, it clicked. “Oh, god. I completely forgot. I’m so-”

“Don’t,” Oliver dismissed, waving a reluctant hand in the air. “I’m, uh, I’m fine with it. Mostly. The past is the past. I’m sure I’ll be happy for him eventually… Who is she, then?” Oliver didn’t need to specify the person in question’s name in order to elicit a response.

The answer came from Ginny, her voice stiff and reluctant as she spoke. “Her name is Audrey, as you know. They met at a Ministry Christmas party. She’s a Healer but her boyfriend at the time worked in the Magical Law Enforcement department,” Ginny started. “In a month she’d left him and she and Percy were already hunting for houses.”

Christmas, Oliver thought. A month after they split; he resisted commenting about the lack of time between Percy’s two relationships and rather gave a faux, taut smile to Ginny. “She sounds intelligent. I can see why he fell for her so quickly.”

“Mum told him not to invite you,” Ron was the one to speak next. “Not because she doesn’t want to see you, once a Weasley always a Weasley and all that, but she figured it’d be a little awkward.”

“He’s expecting you to say no, but he couldn’t not invite you,” Ginny continued. “You were together for quite a long time, really. Two years is a long time in this day and age. I guess he thought this was something he couldn’t do without you in the room.”

“I’m not going to say no,” Oliver shrugged. He suddenly wished that he had ordered a drink before sitting down, wanting desperately to have something numbing his mind to this conversation. “It was surprising to get the invitation, that’s for sure. Might’ve freaked out a little, but I’ll come.”

“I’m – uh,” Harry’s voice entered the conversation. “Are you going to be bringing anybody?”

“Of course,” Oliver answered, possibly too quickly to sound believable. “It’s not too serious right now, but they’ll be coming with me. You probably don’t know them. I’ve been taking things slow with basically everybody since Perce and me, you know…”

“That’s great, Oliver!” Ginny smiled, lips curled into a genuinely pleasant and happy shape. The smile reminded him vaguely of how she’d looked when Oliver had arrived at her wedding, arm in arm with Percy on the front row. “The first relationship after a breakup is always hard. But you’re a stud, so, any man would be stupid to say no to you.”

“Hey.” Harry’s faux betrayal quickly drew the conversation away from Percy and Audrey, a kiss between him and Ginny taking them onto an argument about their Quidditch League predictions.

 _Why_ , Oliver thought. He’d just lied through his teeth declaring that not only was he bringing a date to Percy’s wedding, but, he was actively dating this person when in reality he hadn’t seriously looked at another man since Percy walked out on him all those months ago. It was an incredibly overwhelming situation for him to begin with so why he’d dropped the ball of his own accord and made up false statements to keep up appearances was beyond him.

He hadn’t a single idea where he would find someone to bring to the wedding, let alone somebody who would convincingly play the part of happy partners. Oliver knew he wouldn’t be able to find a person he cared about that much in three months; he’d shamefully realised on a failed date three weeks ago that the split with Percy had planted seeds of some severe trust issues in his heart. He’d struggled to believe a word the person opposite him had muttered and, as a result, had fled home while his date excused himself to the restroom.

“Drinks?” Oliver exclaimed after his moment of silence passed.

“Whiskey for us, please.” Harry smiled, tossing the money for his and Ginny’s drinks in Oliver’s direction. More coins followed as Ron requested Peachfizz (a new recipe Madam Rosmerta had been trying out for the last few months) and Angelina stuck strictly to Pumpkin Juice. Oliver hurtled off to the bar, fingers gripping so tightly around the coins that their curved edges dug into the soft skin of his palms.

“Someone looks troubled.” It wasn’t Madam Rosmerta’s voice that greeted him across the bar. Oliver looked up, taken aback by the face that stared back.

“Oh, um,” Oliver started; in his humble opinion the God’s above him were truly being cruel now. His day had been eventful enough, Oliver didn’t know what he had done to deserve this confrontation now. “Marcus. Hi.”

Marcus Flint smiled, teeth beaming as his lips curled upwards. He had a towel flung over his right shoulder, shirt buttoned only halfway up as he rested his elbows on the bar separating them. His skin seemed more tanned than Oliver remembered, a constellation of scars dug into his hands that gripped a few soapy glasses. He was still thin, shoulders broad as Oliver recalled from the Quidditch Pitch all those years ago. Marcus’ eyes stared through Oliver’s own, reciprocating the intense analysis Oliver had been giving him. “Oliver. Hi.” Marcus finally repeated.

“What are you doing here?” Oliver asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Marcus seconded. Oliver’s lack of response urged Marcus on, a chuckle leaving Marcus’ lips as he continued. “I work here. My internship at the _Daily Prophet_ doesn’t really cover the cost of rent these days. Surely that’s obvious from where I’m standing compared to where you are.”

Oliver nodded, his clumsy fingers letting the coins cupped in his palm scatter across the bar. The chiming of coins colliding with the wood clattered ridiculously loud, causing punters on both his sides to send disapproving glares his way. “Sorry, long day. My mind isn’t connecting the dots right now.”

“It’s fine. What can I get you?” Marcus asked, drawing the coins to the end of the bar before allowing them to tumble into his waiting palm.

“Pumpkin Juice, one Peachfizz, two Firewhiskey’s and a Red Currant Rum, please.” Oliver recited, watching with growing curiosity as Marcus poured and effortlessly stirred drinks with a gentle flick of his wand. He filled tumblers right to the top without allowing any overflow, summoning them on to a tray he’d conjured in front of Oliver’s eyes. He tipped the coins into the cashier before him, the tinkling of coins forming a sonorous melody that elicited a smile on his face.

“Cool. There you go,” Marcus finished, placing Oliver’s change on the tray as he gently pushed it across the bar. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.” He didn’t move, though. They both stood there, still looking directly at the other without a hint of intimidation flickering over their faces.

“Internship at the _Prophet_?” Oliver asked.

Marcus nodded. “Yeah. Editor in training of the announcements section. I know all about the births, deaths and weddings of the wizarding world.”

The silence that fell between them told Oliver immediately Marcus _knew_. “If you want to say something, do it now.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” was Marcus’ gentle reply. “I’m not evil. If you ever, you know, need anything… I’m here for you.”

Oliver nodded, waiting a moment more before picking up the tray. “Okay.”

He turned to move back to the table, intercepted again by a quiet _Oliver_ coming from Marcus’ lips. “I met her, the girl, at that Ministry party. He’s downgraded.”

Oliver didn’t reply, simply blinked and shuffled eagerly back to the table. As he set the tray down and dished out the drinks he absorbed mere words of the conversation occurring around him; it seemed that names for Angelina’s unborn child were being suggested and, were Oliver listening, he would have been happily supplying his own ideas. But his mind was detached from the conversation, rather focused on the boy behind the bar and the mysterious comment he had just made about Audrey. His eyes, now glued to Marcus, followed every move the boy made. From filling more drinks to stocking the shelves with clean glasses, Oliver noticed how Marcus’ lips were curved into a constant grin. He went to retreat to the back of the bar, most likely to collect more barrels of Butterbeer, but, at the last minute, looked straight over to Oliver. He blessed Oliver’s vision with a subtle wink, flashing a final, simple smile as he wandered out of sight.

 ⚡

At home that evening, rolling a quill between his shaking fingers, Oliver signed the RSVP slip attached to the invitation and stared longingly at Percy’s name. He’d send it off tomorrow after training, taking a detour to the Post Office instead of Flooing straight home. His eyes scanned the writing at the bottom. _Percy and Audrey extend this invitation to a Plus One, if required. Please detail below if you are to take up this opportunity._

He could leave it unticked and, when the questions would flow in months later, Oliver could tell Ginny that the relationship ended and he couldn’t find anyone else to bring. That would be the easy way out of the pool of lies he’d dunked himself into. The confidence faltered quickly, though, as it was highly likely that Percy would tell his family about Oliver’s reply and would most likely mention the fact he didn’t list a plus one. Seating arrangements would be made and catering organised and, to Oliver’s dismay, his lack of a plus one on the RSVP slip would be noted the moment the owl delivered it to the Burrow.

Still, Oliver doubted he’d be able to trick someone into coming to a wedding with him. Most people he knew well enough to ask would most likely have an invitation of their own and, given the fact they were all well into their twenties by now, wouldn’t be eager to play a game of pretend all evening. There wasn’t any doubt in Oliver’s mind that all of his classmates were now in happy relationships themselves, if not already married. But he _couldn’t_ go alone. It would be humiliating beyond belief, more so than when he swallowed a fly in a Quidditch final and flew into his own hoops. Oliver knew he needed to find somebody, even if it was completely fake and emotionless. Pretending to be in love with someone would be incredibly easy the minute they both had ounces of alcohol in their stomachs. The only difficulty was thinking of a person to ask.

Then it hit him. _If you ever, you know, need anything… I’m here for you._

 ⚡

Oliver had been filled to the brim with confidence the next day as he planned his flowery speech to Marcus about why he needed them to pretend love each other for an evening. In Quidditch Practice he saved more goals than he had the whole season thus far, flying breezily on his broom as if it were as easy as walking down the street. He sent his RSVP off at the Post Office later that morning, having proudly checked the ‘ _I will be bringing a Plus One’_ box. Oliver had planted a kiss to the envelope before attaching it to the leg of an over-excited owl. It wasn’t a kiss of love or wanting, rather a kiss of confidence that he would be entering that wedding with not a single pair of eyes looking at him with sympathy.

Oliver only wished he’d retained that confidence as he apparated to _The Three Broomsticks_ later that evening. He left his journey until the beginning of dusk, wanting the shower of stars in the sky to be as clear as ever before he embarked on his task. The streets of Hogsmeade bloomed with young couples and friends gallivanting into shops, most of them crowding the doorway to the pubs. An ambiance of friendship drifted along the main street, accompanied with clouds of laughter from gangs of girls gripping each other’s hands as they descended into _The Three Broomsticks._ Oliver followed them in, heart gradually sinking and confidence dropping at an exponential rate as the floorboards creaked beneath him.

He caught sight of Marcus at the bar, busying himself with the act of polishing glasses rather than serving the tidal waves of wizards and witches bombarding the front of house. Madam Rosmerta remained unfazed at the level of custom, gliding between the faces, old and young, with the same level of love and gratitude she showed everyone at all times. Oliver swallowed, his throat appearing to shrink in size as he forced his emotions back down. He stalked towards where Marcus was; by chance there were no punters seated around the corner where Marcus worked, they’d all clumped to the tables or leaned against the pillars.

“Hi!” Oliver’s exclamation presented a false sense of confidence. He flooded with worry and regret as Marcus looked up to him, face more shocked than Oliver had anticipated.

“Hey,” Marcus’ reply was cool but confused, hands setting the glass down on the bar as to not risk smashing it on the ground. “I didn’t expect to see you back here. I haven’t seen and of your friends this evening.”

“I’m not here for them,” Oliver shrugged, masking his nervousness by sitting on one of the stools. The wooden structure squeaked beneath him, almost squealing for him to _leave_ and _run_ before he made a fool of himself. “I’m here for you.”

“Oh.” Marcus paused, summoning two clean glasses filled with a burning, red liquid. He pushed one to Oliver’s side, tilting his head ever so slightly as he waited for Oliver to continue.

“I have a favour I need to ask.” Oliver began, taking a grateful sip of the rum Marcus had poured for him.

“You need a favour from me?” Marcus’ confusion deepened, eyebrows drawing together as if he was trying to see through the sentence for a joke.

Oliver nodded. “Yeah. You said yesterday that if I needed anything I could come to you. And,” he continued before Marcus could argue any point. “I know you probably meant emotional support, but hear me out. You know my ex is getting married. You also probably deduced that I’m not getting married and that I’m painfully single.”

“Not painfully, but it was sort of clear you were single.” Marcus managed to slip in a comment between sips of his drink. His shirt was buttoned lower this time, allowing Oliver full vision of the scars across his chest and the few tattoos he’d inked over his skin. The Hawaiian pattern – of course he’d wear Hawaiian shirts, Oliver thought – beautifully contrasted the coloured ink drawings decorating his skin, making his body look like an art gallery of its own accord.

“Good, so,” Oliver continued. “My preposition is this: I can’t go to this wedding alone. Turning up to my ex’s wedding single is just a level of social embarrassment I don’t think I can handle. You said if I needed anything I could come to you. So, will you be my fake boyfriend for the night of my ex-boyfriend’s wedding so I can avoid the looks of pity from everyone there?”

Oliver’s question tumbled off his rosy lips faster than he anticipated and he was half expecting Marcus to ask him to repeat the words. But that never came. Marcus stood in silence for a moment, swilling his rum around the base of his glass.

“I didn’t even tell you I was gay.” Marcus finally commented.

“You didn’t need to tell me,” Oliver shrugged. “Not to stereotype or anything, but you’re literally wearing a half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt, Marcus. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

A smile found its way back to Marcus’ face as he downed the rest of his rum. The glass remained empty for mere seconds before magically refilling to the brim, the red liquid glinting under the light of the lantern hanging behind them. “You want me to pretend to be in love with you so you don’t have to go to your ex’s wedding alone?”

“I never mentioned being in love.” Oliver countered.

“Don’t be pedantic.”

“But yes, essentially. I’ll pay for your suit and travel and accommodation. You just need to stand next to me, looking pretty, agreeing with everything I say about our relationship.” Oliver explained, nervously drumming his fingers over the bar.

Marcus silenced himself again, eyes looking Oliver up and down at a scarily slow pace. “Fine. But,” he continued, hushing Oliver’s immediate signs of elation. “I’m not standing silent and just agreeing with you.”

“Come again?”

Marcus’ eyes rolled. “We’re sorting out a backstory. Those Weasley’s notice everything. If it doesn’t seem believable they’ll know you’re still single and in love with your ex. Meet me in the _Leaky Cauldron_ on Saturday and we can make up a plan.”

“I’m not in love with Percy.” Oliver argued.

“But you are, though. If you weren’t you wouldn’t be so worried about being caught single at his wedding.” Marcus explained. There was a glint of confusion blossoming in his eyes again, accompanied with an awkward clearing of his throat.

“That’s not why I’m worried about going single.” Oliver didn’t fully believe his retort, though. He thought he was completely over Percy; surely he couldn’t still be smitten with the ginger heart-breaker after he completely tore his soul to shreds not too long ago.

“If you say so, boyfriends,” Marcus shrugged. “Seriously, though. Saturday, _Leaky Cauldron_. I finish my internship at six. I’ll buy you dinner.”

Oliver nodded. “Thank you.” He held a hand out for Marcus to shake, smiling ever so slightly as Marcus’ tanned fingers intertwined with his own pale ones. They shared a final curious gaze, Marcus supplying another ambiguous wink, before Oliver turned back out of the room and shuttled himself to the nearest Floo network.

 ⚡

Oliver hadn’t been to the _Leaky Cauldron_ since his Hogwarts days. He and his family would make a trip out of coming to Diagon Alley for his supplies, stopping over in the pub the evening before descending into the shops the morning after. Oliver remembered staring longingly at the new broomsticks hanging in shop windows while his mother forced him into more mundane bookstores and quill suppliers. He used to be bright-eyed and metaphorically bushy-tailed at the thought of returning to Hogwarts so, as he entered the pub at six that Saturday evening, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him.

Behind the counter Hannah Abbott drew beers and poured tea, conversing quietly with witches juggling coins between their fingers. She, like Madam Rosmerta, threw a loving smile in Oliver’s direction, beckoning him to the front of the bar as she spotted him entering his establishment.

“Oliver, it’s so wonderful to see you,” Hannah reached across the bar, arms enveloping Oliver in an unexpected yet happily received hug. “It’s been too long. What brings you here?”

“You too, Abbott,” Oliver smiled, noting the ring that was wound around her finger. She didn’t correct him, though, and Oliver assumed her wedding had yet to be planned. “Just meeting up with someone. Friendly catch-up. How’s Neville?”

“He’s wonderful,” Hannah’s face lit up. “He loves working at Hogwarts. Living here is going well, we’re engaged. It gets lonely while he’s away all that time but it’s hard to feel sad when you’ve got your friendly customers. But don’t let me keep you. I’ll send my MagiMenu over in a moment.”

“MagiMenu?” Oliver asked.

“George Weasley helped me make them. You essentially write down your order on the menu which then flies to the kitchen. When your order is done it flies the plates over to you. Very clever invention, really. Saves a lot of stress and time.” Hannah explained, supplying Oliver with a small wave before turning back to the customers at the front of the bar.

Oliver looked around the orange-tinted room, breath catching in his throat as he saw Marcus in the corner. He manoeuvred through untucked chairs and askew tables to sit opposite him, making his presence noticed with a gentle tap of his knuckles on the table.

“Hey.”

Marcus smiled. “Hi. You’re right on time.”

“And you’re clearly early.” Oliver noted, shrugging off his coat as he scooted his chair closer to the table.

“Early is better than late. I always arrive to places early. Let’s people know I’m excited to see them,” Marcus explained. “How was your week?”

“Small talk, really?” Oliver inquired, scanning over the contents of the MagiMenu that had dropped in front of him.

“Does it really count as small talk if I’m genuinely interested?” Marcus countered, tapping the end of his wand to a few options on his menu.

Oliver mirrored the actions, waiting for the menus to drift off before speaking again. “I suppose not,” he continued. “It’s been okay. Had a friendly match against a local Quidditch team which was exciting. We won, of course. Met up with my mum for dinner one of the evenings. That’s about as exciting as my life gets these days. You?”

“Standard,” Marcus shrugged. “Dealing with annoying, flirtatious drunks over the bar before returning to work to write about death, love and life. Truly puts into perspective how alone I am sometimes. Speaking of alone, we need to sort out our life story.”

“Life story? Why can’t it just be that we bumped into each other, had a drunken one night stand and are now testing the waters?” Suggested Oliver, lifting his beer bottle to his lips as it appeared at the table.

“Uhm, no,” Marcus’ response was plain and dry. “I’m romantic, Oliver. I would never hook up with someone in a one night stand and ‘test the waters’. I have standards.”

“Well, genius. What do you suggest?” Oliver asked.

Marcus paused, running the rim of his bottle over his lips as he thought. “Halloween? If we meet on a holiday it’s easy to remember.”

“I told Ginny I’d only been seeing this person for a short while. Halloween is too long ago.” Oliver sighed.

“New Year’s? That’s only three months, reasonably short for an adult relationship.” Marcus continued, a little taken aback when a plate dropped in front of him.

“New Year’s works for me,” Oliver nodded, devouring a few mouthfuls of his soup. The warmth filled every ounce of his body, leaving an aftertaste of _home_ on his tongue after every swallow or bite. “So where were we on New Year’s Eve and why did we end up together?”

“At a party. But a party where nobody else would be. So, we can’t say a Ministry party for obvious reasons. Possibly a _Prophet_ party? That is where I was that evening, anyway. You could’ve been there through connections? You’re a Quidditch player who’d just won the season so it makes sense you’d be told about the party. You turn up, I’m there. Chuck some rum down our necks, the countdown to the New Year and we have our first kiss in the bag.”

“I can see why you’re interning at the _Prophet_ , you sure do like putting thought into fictional stories.” Oliver chuckled.

“I’ll just ignore the fact that you insulted a franchise as fine as the _Prophet_ ,” Oliver detected a sliver of sarcasm oozing into Marcus’ response, causing him to scoff on the beer he had swilling in his mouth. “This is just to make things easier. So we met on New Year’s, _did not_ sleep with each other, and kept chatting afterwards. Because we live quite far apart we could only meet on weekends, sometimes less, hence why you said it wasn’t that serious. Are you happy with that?”

Oliver nodded. “I am. New Year’s Eve, kiss at midnight, no sex. Cool. I like the sound of that.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, making their way through the food in front of them, draining bottles of beer as though they were cups of water after they’d trekked through a desert. Their giddy giggles filled the air as they conversed about hypothetical dates they’d been on in their ‘relationship’, creating mundane details about their time together that nobody at a wedding would ask about, but they created nonetheless. Oliver noticed how Marcus’ smile left dimples penetrating the apples of his cheeks, perfect crescent moon shapes carved into his tanned skin. The freckles dotted over his whole form, in particular two freckles above his dimples, created smiley faces over him. Marcus simply radiated warmth, from the very tone to his skin through to the acceptance and happiness that he conveyed every time he so much as smiled. Conversation flowed with effortless joy, not a moment of silence uncomfortable as they paused the drink or to think up an answer to a question. The customers around them came and went like clouds in the outside sky, but still they sat. Oliver didn’t know the time of evening it had become, all he knew was there were twelve bottles of beer between them and that his eyes were beginning to droop with a desperation of sleep.

“We should get a room for the evening. You’re too tipsy to make it back through the Floo network and I don’t want to apparate like this. Hannah gave me a key on the way in.” Marcus finally commented, stuttering words together like a scratching record. There were pauses between his sentences that lingered a little too long to appear purposeful, instead highlighting how much effort he put into the utterances to make sure they appeared coherent.

“One room?”

“If you want me to play pretend and make people believe that we’ve been together for six months at a wedding, you need to be open to sharing a bed. If we’re staying the night in this manor where the reception is being held people will ask questions if we ask for two rooms.” Marcus explained, lifting himself from the table with difficulty. His hand went to wrap around Oliver’s wrist, but his delicate fingertips found their way through the gaps between Oliver’s fingers instead.

Oliver rose with the help from Marcus, leaning most of his weight onto Marcus’ side as they ascended the staircase to room Hannah had given them for the evening. The corridors seemed narrow and lopsided as they walked but, Oliver thought, it was possibly just the alcohol in his system blurring the edges and shaking his view of his surroundings. By the time he managed to focus his eyesight on a single floorboard Marcus had unlocked a door and pulled Oliver inside, a chill from the open window whipping around their ankles and necks.

“I’m taking the right side of the bed.” Marcus declared, falling immediately onto the covers.

“I sleep on the left, anyway. This is already a perfect match.”

Oliver’s smile went unseen in the darkness of the room, only the moonlight spilling in from the window to light a small patch of the floor. Neither of them reached to turn the lanterns on; they just lay in silence, only the sounds of their jittery breaths floating into the air.

“Before you pass out and inevitably leave before I wake up in the morning,” Marcus uttered out of nowhere. “When am I going to hear from you next?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe? We need to go suit shopping anyway, but if this is going to be, you know, believable,” Oliver applied air quotation marks around the word ‘believable’. “We should spend some time with each other.”

“We kind of need to practice kissing and all of that mundane stuff.”

“Why?”

“So many questions,” Marcus groaned. “Wedding, Oliver. Full of love and couples and alcohol. Alcohol and romance often results in kissing and touching. We’ll stick out like sore thumbs if we don’t do any of that. Please use your mind.”

“Right, makes sense.”

“I’m going to sleep now. Send me an owl when you want to spend time together. Or, you know, just pop into my work like you did earlier this week. It was a wonderful surprise seeing your pretty face again.”

Oliver went to question what Marcus meant but, just as he formed the sentence in his mind, he heard gentle exhales falling from the lips of the boy next to him. He left Marcus to sleep, pulling the covers over them as a shield to the chill from the still open window at the opposite side of the room.

Oliver seemed to end the week as overwhelmed as he had started it. From panicking about being single going in to his ex’s wedding – an ex who he _possibly_ still had feelings for – to making plans to practice affection with his fake boyfriend, Oliver continued to be awash with confusion and exhaustion. His bones were elated that he was finally spending a night sleeping rather than sitting awake tossing and turning every scenario revolving around the wedding in his mind. As he turned to his side, taking in the shadowy outline of Marcus’ profile as he slept, Oliver felt a flicker of excitement. He had no idea how this was going to unfold in the future but for now, with the prospects endless, he knew his life was about to get a little bit more exciting.


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suit shopping, 'date' making & love story shaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOOoOOhhHHh we love 8k of flintwood fluff.
> 
> tumblr: scorpiusmlafoy

After Oliver left the Leaky Cauldron early the following morning he didn’t hear from Marcus for a considerable amount of time. The days drummed by and the weather seemed to start clearing leaving Oliver no time to think about anything, not even Percy’s wedding, except for Quidditch. Rainless and cloudless skies had the captain keeping them at training for longer hours, watching from the side as he commanded his team to loop and weave around the pitch. Puddlemere United had won the league the previous year and, while matches had already been happening for a few weeks now, Oliver knew their captain was determined to hold the title for a second consecutive season.

Two weeks later, the Friday morning sun beaming in the sky, Oliver hovered before his hoops, watching as the rest of the team rehearsed and perfected different passing routines at the opposite end of the pitch. In that moment of stillness, one hand stabilising his broom while the other sifted through his windswept hair, Oliver noticed an owl flutter to the changing room postal area. It had small wings of an almost olive colour, quite small in size as it dropped a letter into the collection area. The captain had bewitched the postal service a long time ago to magically sort the letters into the correct player’s lockers. An owl would drop a parcel or letter down the chute, pause for a moment to gleefully snack on the open crate of food below, and then glide back off to the sky as the letters slit through the locker doors to whoever the recipient was. Oliver had been ignoring his post for quite some time, pushing the envelopes to the back of his locker so they weren’t in the way of his bag or his actual possessions. Most of them were patronisingly worded requests for interviews with different newspaper franchises from across the country, an occasional birthday invitation or letter from his mum appearing every other month. Oliver wasn’t sure why this owl caught his interest – he never really paid attention to the ins and outs of the changing room beyond packing up his belongings at the end of the day – but _something_ in his gut told him to pay attention to it.

The owl had retained so much of Oliver’s interest that he heard the screeches of “ _Wood!_ ” from the other end of the pitch too late. A Bludger pounded its way into Oliver’s arm, spiralling him immediately off his broom to plummet to the ground below.

By the end of the practice, mind foggy from the injury and the gently uttered _Episkey_ from a teammate to repair his broken bone, Oliver had long forgotten about the owl. As he opened his locker following a warm shower he’d spent staring at the purple bruise forming along his entire arm, Oliver didn’t expect a letter to tumble in front of him. He blinked; it took a few moments to remember the olive owl and the thoughts that had swum in his mind before he lost consciousness and found himself on the floor. The writing scribed across the front was unrecognisable, an entirely lowercase ‘ _oliver wood, puddlemere united training grounds, dorset’_ filling to the centre of the envelope. Oliver thought it to be very wonderful handwriting, cursive in some parts and joined up in a soothing, curved way. Part of him immediately thought it would be another wedding invitation – Hannah and Neville, perhaps? – but, unlike ignoring those like he normally did, Oliver sat on a bench and tore the letter out.

_it’s been two weeks. i’ve found the perfect place for us to pretend date. someone’s having a promotion party at the prophet. tomorrow at nine, address overleaf. wear something pretty, i’m not being embarrassed by my boyfriend the first time we’re seen in public together. marcus._

Oliver flipped the parchment over, noticing how under the _Prophet_ ’s logo Marcus had scribbled an address. Well, not really an address. The party seemed to be happening in the middle of a field (‘ _under a marquee, don’t worry!_ ’) on the outskirts of London, with promises of starting late and ending as the sun would start to rise. Oliver felt confused to say the least; he hadn’t expected Marcus to be so interested in planning this fake romance beyond the meal at the _Leaky Cauldron_ and going out in the next month to find clothes to wear. It was almost disconcerting how much effort Marcus wanted to put in to their fake love story; In Oliver’s mind everyone at the wedding would be a little too tipsy to ask them questions beyond the standard _where did you meet_? and _how long have you been together_?

Marcus hadn’t provided an address for Oliver to confirm his attendance, clearly assuming he’d have no plans for a Saturday night and would be able to appear in a field at such short notice. It stung a little in Oliver’s heart knowing that Marcus’ assumptions had been correct; he definitely had no plans and, honestly, the idea of finally having something exciting to do instead of sitting at home overthinking how his life had come to _this_ excited him.

“Wood,” his captain’s voice sounded. “Out, please. Everyone left about ten minutes ago.”

Needless to say, desperate to hide his blushing cheeks, Oliver hurried to stuff his clothes in his bag, delicately holding Marcus’ letter in his hand as he scuttled out the changing room for the last time that week.

 ⚡

The following evening, inky sky decorated with streams of stars hanging like delicate bunting, Oliver quickly discovered that the outskirts of London was an unusual place. The buildings seem to shrink and open fields appeared while the skyline hung behind him like a perfect postcard. The sun had set long before, the only light guiding Oliver to where this party would be happening being lanterns leading a curved line through the grass. Underneath the address on Marcus’ letter had been a request for anyone apparating to do so a short while away as to not draw attention to flocks of people gathering in a random field. There were promises of lights and sounds to guide any lost witch or wizard in the right direction, something Oliver was extremely grateful for as he rarely ever ventured out of the heart of London.

The blades of grass beneath his shoes crackled and compressed as he stalked on in the night, distant sounds of car horns and house alarms sending flocks of birds fleeing into the air. Some trees gently _swished_ in an evening breeze, sending lines of loose leaves floating before Oliver’s face like they were trying to put on a show. As he crossed the brow of a hill he’d been climbing for the last few minutes Oliver finally saw the marquee; it stood only a few yards away, lit from the inside out with yellow beams casting shadows of everyone inside onto the material. People danced in what looked like a puppet show, the completely blacked out figures moving with such cohesion that it seemed unlikely they were doing so of their own accord. Bubbles of music popped in his ears as Oliver moved closer, suddenly feeling slightly insecure about entering this party alone. As far as he was aware the only person he’d know was Marcus and finding him through the obvious thicket of people attending would be difficult.

The entrance to the marquee was held up by two origami ducks, charmed to hover permanently in the air with the material attached to their paper beaks. A banner outlined the arched entrance, bewitched letters flashing the statement ‘Happy Promotion Aurora!’ Oliver hadn’t a clue who Aurora was or, even, what department for the _Prophet_ she worked in. He imagined she was relatively important, possibly a general editor or main journalist, given the fact that it seemed the _entire_ company were stuffed into this marquee. Circular tables donned the outline of the marquee, the centre being empty as an area for dancing and mingling. Tables piled high with food lined the rear end, clumps of wizards already draining the plates though the party only started about half an hour before.

“I thought you’d stood me up for a minute,” a hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear turned Oliver around. He was unsurprised to see Marcus in _another_ Hawaiian shirt, this one a base colour of pink with palm trees and bananas printed over it. It was buttoned quite low, the front tucked into his washed-out jeans. It was an outfit Oliver never would have expected to see Marcus in but, his mind countered, he didn’t think he’d ever be seeing Marcus Flint at any point in his life after Hogwarts. “I thought you always liked turning up to places on time?”

“Nobody turns up to a party on time. If it’s meant to start at nine, everyone knows it means half nine,” Oliver lied, reluctant to admit to Marcus that he was incredibly nervous to be there. “Anyway, I didn’t have you down as a party type. Figured you’d be a little tired of alcohol and noise and people after work.”

“It’s a different vibe. Work is one of two extremes, one being underage kids trying to weasel a drink out of me and the other being middle-aged morning drinkers. My _Prophet_ mates are completely different,” Marcus explained. His hand found Oliver’s lower back, gently ushering him towards the drinks table at the back of the tent. “What do you have? I’ve already searched the whole selection and there’s no Red Currant Rum, sadly.”

“So tragic,” Oliver smiled. “Whiskey, then. This is the first time I’ve been out on a weekend in a while, I’m going to make the most of it.”

Marcus nodded, lifting two glasses full of an emerald-coloured liquid. “Whiskey infused with eucalyptus. It sounds weird but it’s good, trust me.”

“I do.” Oliver assured, tipping the contents of the cup into his mouth. It tasted bitter with a hint of mint; Oliver felt the alcohol go _straight_ to his head, lacing into his senses and flicking a switch that all of a sudden seemed to make him ridiculously happy.

“I have a table in the corner with the rest of my team. There’s a few of us who work in the announcements section,” Marcus eased, picking a few more glasses up. “They know I’m expecting you. They’re very nice, I promise. Just smile and keep looking pretty and they’ll fall in love with you.”

Oliver nodded; his fingers threaded through one of Marcus’ belt loops, Oliver followed like a lamb as they drifted through the crowds to one of the tables. The decoration of the room was predominantly pink, the tablecloths boasting a pastel peach with bouquets of flowers in the middle of them. More bewitched origami ducks collected the empty glasses while some dropped glitter bombs over the heads of _Prophet_ employees. Marcus stopped them at a bustling table where four relatively young people were sat. A man around the same age as him and Marcus was in the middle of building a pyramid out of shot glasses, beside him a couple were breathing each other in at a mildly sickening level and last a girl, staring right at the two of them as they approached, sat slouched in her chair.

“I was wondering when you’d appear,” her voice sounded slick and deeply interested as she looked between the two of them. Her eyes, a deep ocean blue, had interest swimming on the surface, smile hinting to questions she was preparing to ask. “Hi, I’m Anastasia. I prefer Ana, though. I’m Marcus’ boss and, as far as I know, you’re his boyfriend.”

Oliver’s breathing stuttered slightly, trying his best to mask his hesitation with a smile. He took one of Marcus’ glasses as he sat, knowing he’d need the alcohol to get through this forthcoming conversation. “Nice to meet you, Ana. I’m Oliver.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, leaning closer to Oliver while he spoke. “You are a pretty one. How in heaven’s name did he manage to get you?” She laughed; her laughter was much softer than her voice, tinkling like a gentle bell amidst the loud drums from the live music.

“He slipped me some rum and the next thing I knew I was his.” Oliver told, soothing slightly as he saw Marcus nod out the corner of his eye. For some reason knowing he was accurately following their made up script made him blush with pride.

“Always the romantic aren’t you, Flint?”

Marcus shot a wink in her direction, having now tucked his chair right up to the table so he could engross himself in the conversation. “You know it, gorgeous. He says it was the rum, I say it was my charm and good looks.” Marcus’ arm had found its way around Oliver’s shoulders, fingertips curling the material of Oliver’s collar. It was unusual to be this close to someone, especially someone he didn’t really know and didn’t have any sort of feelings for. He hesitated a moment, taking another glass of whiskey in his hands as he settled into Marcus’ warmth.

“I bet it was the rum,” Ana grinned. Her inquisitive eye darted to where Marcus fiddled with Oliver’s clothes, almost daring them to _prove_ their ‘relationship’ with something else, something deeper. “You’re a Quidditch player, right?”

Oliver nodded. “Puddlemere United, we won last year.”

“You beat the Harpies. I was a little hurt, I must admit. You’re the keeper?”

“He is.” Marcus answered for him.

Both Ana and Oliver cast a confused glance in Marcus’ direction, Oliver’s gaze mixed with a tone of surprise. “Uh, yeah. What he said. Keeper. It’s been my position since I was a kid.”

“That’s fun,” Ana finished, pushing her chair back from the table. “I’m going to get food. See you in a while.” Then she slunk off into the masses of people, seeming to part the seas as she moved gracefully towards the food table.

“She’s scary.” Oliver finally muttered, shifting his body weight so he was looking at Marcus. He didn’t expect Marcus to be looking at him, though, eyes shining with the light of a thousand smiles. He exuberated warmth and comfort with just his eyes; it was such a peculiar presence he’d never come across before, Marcus being the only person he’d ever met to radiate utter positivity and love so easily.

“Ana’s a gem. She did that to me when I came in for my first day. Made a point that she was my boss and that she wouldn’t pay me unless I wrote about the weddings as if they were a gift from above. She had me make her coffee, but she didn’t tell me how much sugar or milk she had. It took me about three weeks to get the perfect ratio.” Marcus laughed, almost tightening his grip around Oliver’s shoulders as the chuckles rattled through his chest.

“How does she take her coffee?”

Marcus paused. “Black with no sugar.”

Oliver grinned, a gentle shake of his head blurring his vision slightly. He made a mental note to stop meeting Marcus in places where alcohol was available; he didn’t want to let Marcus think he had an addiction or some dependency on alcohol even though, the more Oliver thought, he knew Marcus would never think that.

“Do you want to dance?” Marcus asked. Oliver found it curious how Marcus’ fingertips skimmed his skin even though there was nobody around. With Ana gone from the table the number of sober people had dropped to none; the couple opposite them had vanished ten minutes ago, with the shot glass pyramid builder lying asleep against the back of his chair.

“I’m not really a dancer. I’m also three whiskeys down so I doubt I’ll be able to stand upright for more than three minutes.”

“Your accent is very thick when you’re tipsy,” Marcus observed, pausing as the origami ducks carried away all the empty glasses from in front of them. “Please? I’ll hold you up. It’s so packed I doubt you’ll be able to move anyway.”

Oliver released a sigh, eyes rolling as he stood up. Marcus’ hand dropped from around his shoulders, instead slipping into his jean pockets as they navigated the floor to a small space in the centre. Marcus was right; so many people crowded the allocated ‘dancefloor’ that they could hardly move two paces either side, instead being forced to stand awkwardly opposite the other, naturally moving individually to the beat of the music at that time.

“How many people will be going to the wedding?” Marcus asked, his loud shouts sounding like a whisper over the thunder of conversation and music attacking them from all angles.

“A lot? The Weasley’s are like… a small army. All of the kids are married, or have partners, some of them have their own children. Then you have the Potter and Granger family and every other person who went to Hogwarts at same time as them. Their family is huge. I’d say probably more than are here at the minute. They wouldn’t rent out a manor if they were only expecting twenty people.” Oliver guessed, wincing slightly as an over-excited, possibly too drunk, man behind him elbowed his lower back. As Oliver went to turn to see who the man was the lights above caught his arm, illuminating the bruise from yesterday’s Quidditch practice.

Marcus’ fingertips coiled their way around his arm, pad of his thumb hesitantly brushing the area around the bruise. “Merlin, what did you _do_? This looks ridiculous, Oliver.”

“Oh,” Oliver muttered. “Fell off my broom. Well, sort of. I wasn’t paying attention, a Bludger came right and me and… here we are now.”

“You’re so clumsy.” Marcus sighed, a smile toying with the corner of his lips.

“You’re rude.” Oliver countered.

“Well, you’re beautiful.” Marcus shrugged.

“What?”

There was silence; unlike the times before there was a thread of nervousness and uncertainty between them, setting a disequilibrium to the once mutual calm they’d established. “Nothing. Come, they’ve refilled the whiskey platter.”

 ⚡

Oliver’s head positively _pounded_ the next day, an incessant drum thumping right into his temples. Every step felt as though someone had a bat to his head, swinging it every time his foot touched the carpet below. His stomach twisted at the thought of ingesting any food or drink and, for a moment, he thought life would be better if he never touched alcohol ever again. Then he remembered how good Red Currant Rum tasted and that idea soon filtered out of his mind as fast as it had appeared.

As he plodded into the kitchen the first sight he saw was a _new_ owl perched on his kitchen counter, digging its beak into his bowl of loose change. “Oh my… why.” He asked himself, clutching at a letter that was scattered over the counter. The handwriting appeared vaguely familiar, no cursive writing or unnecessarily flowery ink colour which, in Oliver’s mind, meant one thing: _not_ another wedding invitation. It was a plain envelope, casual black ink scribing ‘ _Oliver, Apartment over Shop, Dorset._ ’ As he opened the letter, withdrawing the parchment with clumsy and shaking fingers – he blamed the alcohol – his eyes widened at the name at the bottom.

_Oliver!! Why didn’t you tell me you and Marcus Flint were at it? You could have told me the other day in Broomsticks. You seemed quite cosy at that Prophet party yesterday. See you two at the wedding! Oh, P.S. Percy was surprised to see you requested a plus one. He’s been asking questions – promise I won’t tell him. Ginny x_

Oliver’s head hit the counter, not helping with the headache brewing there already. _Great_ , he thought. Surely Marcus would have known that Ginny worked at the _Prophet_ , or at least contributed to articles sometimes, and would hence be at the party that night. At the same time Oliver doubted that Marcus would lie, especially after they’d agreed to wait to tell any Weasley’s until a short while before the wedding. It was all just very overwhelming, an emotion Oliver had been feeling far too frequently the last few weeks.

Oliver tossed the letter onto the growing pile of mail he’d been receiving lately, groaning as the owl managed to tip the bowl over, spreading coins all over the floor. It grabbed a few sickles with its beak, eyes wide and scared as it dashed out the open window before Oliver could consider reacting.

“I really need to start closing that window.” He muttered.

 ⚡

They kept writing to each other over the next few weeks, exchanging letters about their day and their feelings and what their plans were for the foreseeable future. The two of them didn’t see each other in person, despite Oliver _possibly_ visiting The Three Broomsticks more frequently than he did before; apparently Marcus’ workload increased and he had to take up fewer shifts bartending, or some other reason such as that. They’d tossed friendly questions back and forth, mundane details such as their favourite colour or if they felt scared when a thunderstorm sounded right over their head. It was unusual correspondence, something Oliver had never done with anybody, not even _Percy_. He’d wracked his brain night and day reading Marcus’ letters wondering if he and Percy had ever spoken about what their favourite scent was or what the longest journey they’d ever been on had been.

At the same time that it felt peculiar, Oliver’s heart warmed knowing he had a friend to converse with if he ever felt particularly lonely. _Friend_ , because that was all Marcus was. Despite the façade he was rehearsing to present the next month Oliver knew in his soul that he and Marcus were friends playing fictional parts in an obscure play that nobody would ever know about. A twinge of sadness settled in Oliver’s bones when he considered how finite their friendship was; if they were going to ‘breakup’ after the wedding – something Marcus had already created a plan for – there was no way they’d be able to meet as frequently as Oliver would have liked. It seemed cruel to him that he would be losing a companion because of this damned wedding but, Oliver thought, it was all his fault to begin with.

April passed in a breeze; Quidditch games and birthdays went played and attended, the days lengthening and evenings drifting away as the time to the Weasley-Lovelady wedding decreased dramatically. As Oliver approached his fireplace on the first Saturday of May, exactly a month before the big day, he suddenly felt a little sick. This was the first time he and Marcus were seeing each other since the party all those weeks ago, this time to purchase clothes and presents for the wedding. It felt inherently wrong to be buying a gift for the man who left him and the woman he left him for, but Oliver knew if he was going to seem like the mature person he definitely was that he’d have to make some decisions he usually wouldn’t.

Diagon Alley buzzed with a familiar life and vivacity as Oliver descended the streets moments after Flooing into the Leaky Cauldron. There were young witches and wizards, too young to be Hogwarts students but old enough to know about magic, clutching ice creams in their hands as they dawdled down the cobbled streets. Occasionally some of them gasped and pointed to Oliver, a young witch yelping to her father that “ _dad it’s the man from my posters!_ ” as they crossed paths. Oliver would beam a gentle smile in their direction, still flattered every time some noticed him in the streets. He’d been playing professional Quidditch for years now, slowly making his way up the rankings, but it still sent a tingle of surprise down his spine whenever he saw his face in the newspaper or spread across an advertising campaign.

He and Marcus had agreed to meet outside Madam Malkin’s, the only place they thought would supply garments of an orange nature. The more Oliver considered the dress code the less excited he became at the thought of going. Orange was a very nauseating colour in a high quantity, in Oliver’s opinion anyway.

As Oliver approached Madam Malkin’s he saw Marcus from yards away. In what was arguably not a very family friendly outfit, Marcus’ shirt of choice today – an almost neon green Hawaiian one, umbrellas of a rainbow colour dotted all over it – hardly covered the middle of his chest from how few buttons he had done up. He seemed to be wearing the same pair of jeans from the night of the party, only this time there were cuts and holes around the knees.

“These poor children,” Oliver commented as he closed the gap between them, sweeping an obvious glance of Marcus’ whole body. “Probably not what they expected to see when they came to Diagon Alley for lunch.”

“I like to think my outfits inspire people, Wood. My bold colour choices and confidence should influence them. At least that’s what I think in my mind,” Marcus explained. “How have you been?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly how I’ve been,” he started. “I wrote you a letter yesterday. You know more about my life at the moment than my mother does.”

“I just like knowing that you’re okay, is all. But, anyway, we should just bite the bullet and get this done with.” Marcus continued, gesturing with an open palm to Madam Malkin’s behind them. Oliver winced, truly not wanting to do this, as he walked into the shop, the overhead bell tinkling with what felt like a mocking tone. The bell seemed to scream _look, Oliver Wood is here shopping for clothes for his ex-boyfriend’s wedding!_ even though the echoing sound lasted mere seconds and definitely wasn’t sounding words.

“I hate robe stores.”

“I hate the colour orange. It doesn’t match my skin tone at all.” Marcus muttered, fingers running over the delicate materials that hung along the expanse of the shop.

Oliver nodded in silent agreement. “I hate the colour orange, too,” he said. “Mainly because orange reminds me of him and when I think of him I’m reminded how he dumped me in the dirt like I was nothing.”

“Yikes,” was Marcus’ reply, fingers paused on what looked like a robe made entirely of red velvet. “Clearly some emotional baggage tied to the colour orange.”

Oliver scoffed. “Just a little.”

They perused the stock in silence after that, their footsteps clipping on the floorboards as they sifted through every single sheet of material displayed on the racks. It seemed that Malkin’s supplied every colour except for orange, confirmed when Oliver asked a worker if they had anything and their squeaky reply was “ _orange? Oh, no. Madam Malkin despises that colour._ ” Oliver had scoffed, Marcus’ eyes rolling irritably at their wasted time but, secretly, they were both rather relieved to be leaving the shop.

“Glad it isn’t just us who hate orange.” Marcus broke the silence with his sarcastic comment, cutting right through the budding annoyance to release a wash of laughter. He had a skill, it seemed, to swerve any conversation away from awkwardness, rather creating a bubble of friendliness and calm instead.

“Fancy an ice cream? Malkin’s has always drained the life from me. Would be nice to get some sweetness in my system.” Oliver suggested, already edging his footsteps closer to Fortescue’s. Marcus didn’t respond, just screened a smile as he followed Oliver into the parlour.

Of all the customers sat around the tables the two of them were definitely the oldest. A small wizarding family sat by the window, mother counting out coins in her palm as the children argued over who had the best flavour. Two younger witches sat opposite, sharing a cone of strawberry ice cream between gentle nose kisses and quiet murmurs. Marcus didn’t appear bothered by their obvious misplacement, instead heading to the counter. Behind the freezers on the wall hung a portrait of Florean Fortescue himself, currently snoozing in an armchair amidst the soothing sound of a boiling kettle underneath him. It seemed a young couple had bought the parlour, though still stocked the same flavours and retained the old ambiance of the shop.

“What do you want? Grab that table by the other window, I’ll pay.” Marcus instructed.

“Why do you keep paying for my things? First dinner and now this. I have a job, Flint.”

“Because I’m your boyfriend, duh.” Marcus answered, staring at Oliver as if his response made sense.

“I like the Butterbeer flavour in a normal cone. I’ll pay you back eventually.” Oliver flicked the back of Marcus’ head, arms crossing over his chest as he walked to the table that Marcus had suggested they go to. The window opened up to Diagon Alley, allowing Oliver to watch as people chatted and walked and bumped into each other given the narrowness of the street. He hadn’t expected so many people to have been visiting in May, but he himself had never visited any time other than August so he thought, perhaps, that his knowledge of the Alley was limited.

Marcus sat opposite him, bearing a cone in each hand. In his right he held Oliver’s, the golden colour of the scoops topped with what seemed to be a similar Butterbeer syrup. Marcus’ left hand held his ice cream, a vibrant blue swirled with streaks of red. “Blueberry and strawberry. You don’t think they’d mix but they do.”

Oliver uttered a quiet thank you as he took his own cone, spreading a napkin across the table to catch any drips or crumbs. “You’re into weird flavours, aren’t you? Whiskey and eucalyptus, blueberry and strawberry. I’ve never met such an unusual person in my life.”

“Life is boring if you don’t try anything new. I’m a journalist by day and bartender by night, Oliver. My life consists of mixing weird things together,” Marcus chuckled. His laugh cut short, though, and Oliver could tell immediately that he had some profound question that he wanted to ask. “We don’t have to have this conversation if you don’t want, but I’ve been curious since you came to me that night in Broomsticks. You said he dumped you in the dirt like you were nothing… did you not expect him to leave you?”

“I’m not sure if you know this, Marcus, but it’s not standard in a long term relationship to spend every day wondering if you’re going to be dumped,” Oliver – unintentionally – snapped. “Sorry. That was aggressive. No, I didn’t. I thought we were fine. We’d just come back from France, I had some World Cup trials over there, and he just did it. Got back home, we’d been living together for a few months, and he just cut it off. No talking, no reasoning.”

“No reasoning? He didn’t say why?” Marcus pried. Usually Oliver would cut off the conversation at that, adamant that the ins and outs of his and Percy’s breakup was nobody else’s business but there was just _something_ about the way Marcus spoke that drew the words out of him. Marcus seemed genuinely concerned so it seemed rude to not tell him anything he wanted to know.

“Nope,” Oliver shook his head. “Came downstairs one evening with a bag in his hand and said he was going to live with his parents. Said it was too much, he couldn’t handle the commitment. Which is rather ironic given the fact he’s marrying a woman he’s known for five months. Guess there was something inherently wrong with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with you,” Marcus scolded, giving a gentle flick to Oliver’s nose across the table. “I just don’t understand how you can drop everything and walk away for a woman you’ve known five months. Unless he’d been with her longer and just hadn’t told you.”

“You’re suggesting he was having an affair, aren’t you?” Oliver asked. Marcus’ profound silence answered the question for him. “I thought that, too. But Ginny said they met at a Christmas party. He’s not the sort of person who can keep up such a detailed lie to his family.”

Marcus nodded in solemn understanding, biting his tongue on his next question until he and Oliver had both finished. Their napkins were stained with mess and crumbs from their cones by the time Marcus spoke again, preceding his question with a gentle clearing of his throat. “Do you still love him?”

Oliver stared intensely down at his napkin, trying to see if he could form any constellations from the arrangement of crumbs. “I don’t know,” he finally replied, fingers fiddling with his watch strap. “I don’t want to be, and I don’t think I am. But it just hurt a lot and I don’t think I’m over how much it hurt, if that makes sense?”

“It does.” Marcus urged, his smile sprinkling a shower of support over their table.

“I don’t still love him. I might still like him, because he’s the first person I gave my heart to. And it stings to know he’s happy with someone else so soon after supposedly being in love with me. I want him to be happy, but I’m just still _annoyed_ ,” Oliver felt the words all rising to his lips now, the presence of someone he could trust encouraging his emotions to fall. “He left without reason but has the audacity to invite me to his wedding. It’s just messed up, is it not? He, like, he breaks the walls of everything we built and starts something new while he knows I’m still stuck in our debris. It just feels so _mean_. I just want a reason, and I know I’ll never get it. So while I’m not in love with him I still feel strongly towards him, just not in a positive way.”

“Why were you so afraid to go to the wedding alone? You could’ve just ignored the invitation.”

“Because it felt like a game. It felt like he was being spiteful and boasting that he was getting married, you know? It doesn’t make sense in my mind as to why he invited me, even now I don’t know _why_. So when I opened the invite and saw the name it felt like I was being targeted. He wanted me to feel bad, wanted to show off this new love. And I knew I couldn’t turn up alone. Everyone there would know who I am, I was part of that family for the longest time. I just couldn’t handle the idea of being there by myself, knowing what everyone was thinking.” Oliver explained, scrunching up his napkin as a stamp of his concluded monologue.

Marcus nodded; his hand crawled across the small space of the table, resting on Oliver’s own with a gentle brush of fingers over his knuckles. “He’s a grade-A arse for doing what he did to you, Oliver Wood. And I’m saying that truthfully as a _friend_ , not a fake boyfriend you’ve conjured up for a day.”

“I’m such a mess.” Oliver hadn’t realised he had started crying, only noticing when the napkin darkened as teardrops tumbled onto them from his cheeks. He knew that this was the first time he had spoken about… everything with anyone. It felt like someone had pulled a cloak off his back, releasing a cage of birds to fly into the sky and stop weighing down his soul.

“You’re not. You’re just… healing,” Marcus soothed. “Just think. We’re going to turn up to that wedding and out-dance them, out-smile them and out-love them. Then he’ll realise what he’s lost and you’ll be the one walking away that night knowing your life is on the right track.”

Oliver groaned, a smile playing at the front of his lips. “You are _such_ a journalist, Marcus.” Marcus’ hand squeezed over Oliver’s own, a soothing wink easing Oliver’s high emotions for the first time in many, many months

 ⚡

The two of them ended up waltzing into a muggle tailors to find their clothes; rather than decking themselves out in full orange suits they decided on gentle accents of the colour instead. Oliver picked up a pastel orange shirt, feeling awfully stiff as he tried it on in front of the very confused muggle worker. Marcus settled for orange suspenders, declaring that he “ _has a Hawaiian shirt with oranges all over it_ ” and therefore couldn’t commit to anymore of the colour.

As Oliver arrived home that night his soul felt lighter; his head was cleared of the clouds of emotion that had taunted him every day since that dreadful September night. He didn’t even mind clambering into his kitchen, bag of clothes and a present in his hands, to an owl sitting on his kettle. The letter ended up being from Angelina, reminding him that they were meeting at the end of May in The Three Broomsticks – not like Oliver had forgotten anyway – and that she was excited to see him again. He scrawled a simple response back, confirming that he’d be there, giving the letter back to the owl with a small scratch of the head. He waited until the owl had flown into the night, the misty sky suddenly blocking it from view, before retreating to his bedroom.

He just made sure to shut the window before leaving the kitchen, though.

⚡

For the first time in a long while Oliver arrived to The Three Broomsticks earlier than he was supposed to. Whilst he never turned up purposefully late on any prior occasions, he usually decided to arrive _just_ on time, not wanting to awkwardly be the first person there loitering about the place. This time, however, he had a person he needed to see.

Oliver walked with burning confidence into The Three Broomsticks, swerving his way directly to the bar where Marcus was stood, absent-mindedly swiping a towel over the surface of the counter. He looked up at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, immediately smiling as he recognised Oliver’s face. “Hi, sugar.”

“Hey,” Oliver smiled, dropping some coins on the counter. “You know what I’m about to order.”

“Course I do,” Marcus mock saluted, dropping the sickles into the cashier as he bustled about with glasses and liquids. “You’re early for your little meet-up. I’m assuming there’s something you need?”

Oliver nodded. “Indeed. I got another owl from the Weasley’s this morning. Apparently they’re planning catering and need to know everybody’s dietary requirements,” he explained, clinking glasses with Marcus as he brought two rums over. “I need to know if you’re allergic to anything or if you don’t eat meat.”

“Would it be inconvenient if I was a vegan?” Marcus asked.

Oliver shrugged. “Not for me, but probably for the caterers. I’ve seen you eat meat before, though. You’re definitely not a vegan.”

“I know,” Marcus smiled. “But I will be for that evening.”

“You’re awful, Marcus Flint.” Oliver chuckled.

“And you’re wonderful, Oliver Wood,” Marcus countered, refilling their drinks with a tap of his wand the moment he realised they were drained. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” Oliver continued. He’d become immune to Marcus’ casual compliments, no longer letting them phase him beyond a gentle lurch his heart gave at the unexpected attention. “I need to know how we’re getting to the wedding. It’s a fortnight until the day and I still don’t know where you live, let alone-”

An unexpected kiss to his lips silenced Oliver, causing him to drop his rum and shatter the glass over the counter. Marcus’ hand had gripped the neckline of his jumper, pulling him forwards to meet halfway over the bar, their lips pressed together for the first time. Oliver truly hadn’t been expecting it and, honestly, was left a little speechless when Marcus finally let him go moments later, though it felt like hours had passed.

“Sorry,” Marcus’ shy response was accompanied with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just that the rest of your group have arrived and it felt like the right time to do that.”

“You could have _asked_ first, Marcus. Merlin, my trousers are drenched in rum.” Oliver whined, shaking his hand which glistened with a sheen of the spilt liquid. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, feeling his cheeks burning as the other four looked over, faces full of amusement and confusion.

“If I asked you would have said no. I had to kiss you eventually. You know, for practicing purposes. Doing it out of the blue made more sense than scheduling a kissing session.” Marcus reasoned. Not for the first time Marcus’ response deeply confused Oliver, not being able to understand exactly why Marcus kept putting so much thought into this fake relationship. For a while Oliver had almost forgotten that they were pretending to date; he’d grown so used to Marcus’ friendly company that the reminders of their big debut as a loved up couple surprised him every time.

“Right, well. That was… nice,” Oliver stuttered, clearing his throat. “We still need to sort out travel arrangements. But I’m expected over there, so. When your shift ends come and join us and we can talk it out later.”

Marcus nodded, providing Oliver with another one of his winks as he turned away to serve a customer. Bashful, blushing and bewildered, Oliver totted over to the usual table where the five of them sat, desperately trying to avoid Ginny’s gaze as he sat down.

“Plus one?” It was Angelina who asked the question.

“Yup.” Was Harry’s answer; Oliver knew he should have expected Ginny to tell her husband about what she witnessed at the party, but the knowledge that his private affairs were being discussed among other’s family business unsettled him slightly.

“I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Ginny commented; as Oliver looked up at her he noticed her face cracking with a mischievous smile. She had so many comments to make, Oliver could have guessed that from the tone of her letter, and he only wished he hadn’t smashed his drink so he had something to help him with the rest of the evening.

“What makes you say that?” Oliver countered, equaling her smile. If he was going to be teased and tormented by the rest of his friends he was at least going to make it slightly fun. He and Ginny sustained a mutual level of _knowing_ following the evening at the _Prophet_ party, something that clearly left everyone else lost as their faces beamed confusion at their banter.

“You never did get along in school, did you?”

“Enemies to lovers is a popular narrative these days, baby ginger. All that built up tension and emotion has to burst some time.” Oliver joked, risking a glance to the bar. Marcus had an arm leaning on the counter as he conversed easily with Madam Rosmerta, hands flicking through the air as he used his limbs to illustrate whatever point he was trying to make. From the way he was pointing to his shirt Oliver could only assume that Madam Rosmerta was scolding him for how low cut his button-up was. Oliver had begun to wonder whether Marcus knew how buttons on a shirt worked as every time he saw him, the Hawaiian train-wreck was secured with less and less of them.

“I think it’s sweet. You seemed so down the last time we were here. So, it’s become quite serious the last few months then? You said you’d only been seeing the mysterious person for a short while.” Angelina’s voice circled the table, drawing everyone in like smoke as they seemed desperate to hear his answer.

“Sort of. We’ve been seeing each other since New Year’s, on and off to begin with. I’ve been seeing a lot more of him recently, though.” Oliver replied, finally pulling his eyes away from Marcus as he submitted to Madam Rosmerta’s demands and buttoned his shirt up the whole way.

“Percy’s been desperate to find out who you’re taking,” Ginny spoke again, repeating the comment she’d written in her letter before. “He really expected you to turn it down.”

“If he wanted to try and humiliate me by inviting me to his wedding then he should have known I would say yes.” Oliver shrugged.

“He wasn’t trying to humiliate you. I don’t know why he invited you exactly, but… he didn’t mean it in a malicious way.” Ron jumped in to defend his brother, fingertips nervously drumming over the table.

“I’m going to go and get drinks,” Angelina interrupted, standing with slight difficulty. Her bump now well and truly showed, almost perfectly curving underneath her dress. “I’ll get the same as we always have.”

“Until I get an answer as to why he left me and why he invited me to his impromptu wedding day I’ll keep assuming he wanted to hurt me. I know you don’t like hearing bad things about your family members, but you can’t expect me to sugarcoat my feelings towards him when he’s treated me so poorly,” Oliver explained. “But I’m not here to lust over answers from my ex. I’m here to spend time with my closest friends a fortnight before we drink ourselves silly in a fancy manor on the coast of Wales.”

Angelina returned with their first and only round of drinks, having dissolved so intently into conversation that none of them thought to go and get more beverages. They laughed and they reminisced, the recollections of moments during their school careers calming the tension that had arrived earlier at the mention of Percy. Oliver kept chancing glances over at Marcus when he knew nobody would be looking at him, noticing how every time he seemed to have undone one of his buttons thinking nobody would notice.

By the time their conversation had fizzled to small comments about the weather and how they were going to get home, the pub was coming to closing time with the lanterns burning out and punters stumbling out the doorway.

“I should be getting home. George worries if I’m out too late. He thinks I’m fragile, like I’ll fall and break if he’s not around to watch me.” Angelina smiled, the implied harshness to her comment washed away by the smile that spread cheek to cheek.

“He’s going to be a great father,” Oliver hadn’t expected Marcus’ voice to sound from behind him. The comment mixed with the voice and the hand that settled on Oliver’s shoulder made him jump. He didn’t remember mentioning Angelina’s pregnancy to Marcus, though it didn’t take him long to notice the foolishness to his thought; it wasn’t hard to guess she was expecting a child given the size of her bump. “That baby will have great genes.”

“Thank you, Marcus. If they can rival you in broom speed I’ll know they have a shot in this world.” Angelina smiled, welcoming the offer of Marcus’ hug. For some reason Oliver felt nervous; something in his soul deeply hoped that his friends would accept Marcus and that they’d get along. Although they weren’t together and Oliver had no obligation to expect them to bond, it was still nerve-wracking introducing his fake-boyfriend to his true friends.

“It’s Oliver you want them to beat. Either way, with the Johnson and Weasley combination they’ll be made for life. No child is ever going to be more love, I’m sure,” the conversation continued to flow easily, words dropping from Marcus’ tongue like a well-rehearsed script. “It’s good to see you all too. Ginny, Harry, congratulations on your marriage. I expect we’ll be having a baby Potter soon?”

Ginny grinned; Oliver hadn’t told Marcus about the letter and it almost seemed like Ginny knew, her eyes matching momentarily with Oliver’s. “Thank you, Marcus. You bet there will be kids soon. I’m excited to see Harry as a dad.”

Marcus grinned. “So am I. Anyway,” he continued, looking back to Oliver with the familiar softness in his eyes. “We need to go. Have things to organise.”

Oliver nodded, speedily pushing his chair back and grabbing his coat which tumbled to the floor a while earlier. “We’ll see you all at the wedding, then?” After a chorus of hugs and smiles and sung goodbye’s Oliver and Marcus found their way behind the bar, stuffed quite close together in the small room Madam Rosmerta had allocated as the staffroom.

“Did you see her telling me off for my shirt?” Marcus chuckled, handing Oliver a drink as they sat down on the second-hand sofa shoved in the corner of the room. Much to Oliver’s surprise the cup contained water rather than rum, his throat grateful for the hydration while his mind appreciated something that wasn’t alcoholic.

“You do wear it quite low-cut, sugar.” Oliver shrugged.

“I’m a show off, what can I say?” Marcus chuckled, downing his glass of water in one swift motion. “So, this wedding. It’s in Wales?”

Oliver nodded. “A place called Criccieth. The ruins of this castle are on a hill. They’ve rented the area for the ceremony. Manor is about ten minutes away.”

“Cool, so. You live in Dorset, I live in London. Which is closer to Wales? It makes sense to stay at each other’s and then Floo the next day. I’m assuming they’ve sorted out spots for Flooing?” Marcus questioned.

“Surely if we’re Flooing then the distance doesn’t matter, Marcus.” Oliver laughed, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, right. Forgot about that. Could I come to yours, then? I haven’t been to Dorset in my whole life. I’m sort of curious to see what the fuss is about.” Marcus said, flicking his wand ever so slightly to send the empty glass into the small sink in the room.

“Sure. So the wedding it on the Saturday. If you apparate to the training grounds after work on Friday we can stay at my place for the night. I’ll give you a little walking tour of Dorset on the way home. Sound fun?” Oliver asked.

“Sounds wonderful. Also, I’m going to kiss you again now, just so you know.” Marcus commented, voice slow and teasing as he erased the space between them again. Oliver felt like Marcus deliberately took his breath away by initiating all this contact, wanting to see how far he could push Oliver before he either freaked out or reciprocate the actions.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“It’s only the second time, loser,” Marcus shrugged. “You taste like rum. It’s nice.”

“Answer my question.”

Marcus’ eyes rolled. “Because if you keep flinching every time I kiss or touch you then it’s going to be quite difficult pretending we’ve been sleeping with each other for six months.”

“You’ve put so much thought into this. The back story, the story about why we broke up and now _this_. Why do you care so much about making this realistic?” Oliver asked, almost _begged_.

“Because,” Marcus groaned. “Every time someone mentions _his_ stupid name your face falls and you look on the verge of tears, Oliver. All I want to do is shove in his face that you’re happy and don’t need him and the only way I can do that is by making it seem like you’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

Oliver stayed quiet, taking in the sudden burst of emotion that had come from Marcus. “That’s quite sweet, actually.”

“Believe it or not, I have a heart. I thought you’d have established that by now,” Marcus teased, easily back into their normal routine of picking jokingly at each other. “I’ve grown to care about you, Oliver Wood. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re out of my life again.”

The last sentence stung. Very few things had truly hurt Oliver in his life; falling off his broom for the first time had felt like the end of the world, but Oliver had quickly realised that things would definitely be worse. Failing his first exam, getting into his first argument with his parents, they all seemed like such mundane events when Percy Weasley had walked in and tore him to shreds. Even so, there were realisations in his life so profound and painful that they possibly hurt a little more than the betrayal; from flying alone on an empty Quidditch pitch in the rain to understand exactly how much he adored the sport to the feeling of love that summoned in the base of his stomach as he returned to Scotland for the first Christmas since he’d moved away from home. All of these thoughts and events had tugged at his heartstrings, broke pieces of him into complete and utter dust. But Oliver knew there was something in his life that was about to hurt more than all of those previous experiences combined, something that would strip away all the joy and happiness and opportunity that had swam into his life recently. And that something was letting Marcus Flint walk out of his life.


	3. part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wedding, the end and the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay! hopefully the 11k fluff makes up for it.
> 
> tumblr: scorpiusmlafoy

“Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Breathing.”

“Marcus!”

Oliver shot up from his position; he had been slouched pleasantly on his sofa, blanket pulled up to his chin as he pondered an article in the sports section of the _Prophet_ about player loyalty to their Quidditch teams before Marcus had started speaking. In his abrupt movements he had sent the newspaper flying onto the floor, arms swatting the blanket to haphazardly hang half onto the floor.

“No, no. I mean, like. Breathing so heavily. It sounds like you’ve just run a mile and can’t compose yourself.” Marcus explained, taking a hesitant sip from his cup of tea.

“I’m tired. Entertaining a guest isn’t something I’ve had to do since my mother turned up one day.” Oliver shrugged, resuming his relaxed pose.

Marcus huffed, the exhale of breath causing little ripples to form on the surface of his milky drink. “You’re not entertaining me, Oliver. I’ve been here for three hours and the most you’ve done is show me your board game collection.”

He was telling the truth, to be fair, Oliver thought. After his practice had ended Oliver had done as he promised and taken Marcus on a short walking tour of Dorset; the trip turned sour quite soon as the weather turned and Marcus realised that there wasn’t much to the place apart from countryside and thatched roofs. It was nice having Marcus around, though, and Oliver had felt immensely happier and lighter in his soul the moment they said ‘hi’ to each other at the entrance to the changing room. Granted the rest of his team had cast suspicious and knowing glances in their direction as they sauntered off to the corner shop, but, apart from that, having the person who was arguably his closest friend next to him again felt like a wash of relief.

Oliver would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t began feeling rather anxious on the run up to the wedding. Owls had been coming in non-stop from almost everyone he knew, from the Weasley’s themselves clarifying the address and timings of the day down to Ginny sending him letters double-checking he was definitely sure he wanted to come to the ceremony. It was all very suffocating, being bombarded from all directions by people reiterating the point that he was planning on attending the wedding of the man who had left a few scars of heartbreak all over his body only a few months before. Oliver had ended up not even opening some of the letters, just glancing at the handwriting and discarding them the moment he recognised who the writer was. And then Marcus had arrived.

It had only been less than half a day but Marcus had managed to make everything feel okay; his heart rose and he no longer felt intensely panicked about the events of the weekend. In Oliver’s mind he was just taking a weekend trip to Wales with one of his closest friends, all images and thoughts about the wedding gone from his crowded mind. Even lounging in his living room, their clothes hanging on the curtain rail being steamed by charmed irons, Oliver’s mind was far from the forthcoming nuptials.

“There’s nothing to do here apart from my board games,” Oliver reasoned, blinking lazily as he looked up to the ceiling. “I guess I’m nervous? I don’t feel nervous but maybe my body is. I can’t control these things sometimes.”

“I’m guessing I don’t need to ask what you’re nervous about.” Marcus supplied, his voice low and gentle as he cast a glance over to Oliver and noticed his eyelids fluttering slightly from a wash of tiredness.

“You’d only need one guess, that’s for sure.”

Marcus grinned. “I asked Ginny to make sure they have plenty of rum available.” He commented, letting it swell in the air as if it could be an off-hand announcement.

“What?” Oliver inquired, his gaze drifting to Marcus on the opposite side of the room. “Why did you do that?”

“She wrote to me, told me you were ignoring her mail. I think she was worried you were backing out. Apparently she asked you what your preferences were, as her and Harry are in charge of supplying drink, and your lack of response panicked her. I answered her for you.” Marcus shrugged, responding to Oliver’s gaze with a flash of confusion.

“Why did she write to you, though?”

“You’re unbelievably dim,” Marcus groaned, a chuckle sifting its way into his voice. “I’m your boyfriend, Oliver. At least to her anyway. If Harry Potter stopped responding to your mail I bet you’d ask Ginny what’s up.”

“I guess.” Oliver murmured in response. He’d apply more effort to the conversation if he didn’t feel so utterly drained from the day. He’d had a week of consistent training and games and, combining that with the impending sense of doom surrounding the Weasley wedding, he felt drained: physically and mentally. Only now, in the presence of Marcus, did he feel safe enough and assured enough to drift off to an easy sleep.

  ⚡

Oliver didn’t remember making it to his bedroom last night, nor closing the curtains or making it under the covers. He recalled not changing out of his clothes, which explained why he’d slept in his scruffy jeans and too-big jumper from the day before. In fact, he felt completely bewildered as to how he got into such a situation until he smelt pungent coffee drifting through his apartment, reminding him that there was someone else mulling about the place. Someone else who, surprisingly to Oliver, seemed to be a morning person. It took said morning person awake at – Oliver glanced to the clock on his bedside table – seven in the morning to remind him of what day it was. Saturday. Wedding day. End-Of-Oliver’s-Life day.

Oliver was about to panic when the door to his bedroom pushed open, a scent of syrup, coffee and strawberries preceding a shadowy figure. Marcus seemed to have showered and dressed, hair damp and matted against his forehead, as he sauntered into the bedroom. He balanced a tray full of plates and mugs and cutlery as he perched on the end of Oliver’s bed, risking a flick of his wand to draw the curtains and allow a wash of sun to parade the space of the room.

“Good morning, sugar,” Marcus’ morning voice sounded scratchy, like the beginning of a cold that could be cured with some hydration and honey. _Honey_ , Oliver thought, _what a beautiful word._ “I hope you don’t mind that I washed and cooked and… basically took over your home for the morning. I figured me getting ready early would cut time and make you feel at ease.”

“At ease about what?” Oliver asked.

Marcus stared plainly ahead, lips tugged down in a less than satisfactory expression. “Today isn’t the day for fun and games, Wood. Your ex is getting married and you’re probably going to cry a few times. And not in the same way Molly Weasley will be crying.” He shrugged, handing one of the plates and mugs over to Oliver.

“What’s this about?”

“Pancakes and coffee. My mum would always make this breakfast before we went on holiday anywhere. I, uh, used to hate flooing and apparating when I was a kid. This used to ease my stomach and keep me calm before we travelled. I figured it would do the same thing for you.” Marcus explained, cosying himself into the bottom of the bed.

“Thank you,” Oliver responded after a moment of silence. They ate in tranquillity for the most part, only gentle glances being cast between the two as a mode of making sure the other was doing just fine. “Why don’t you talk about your parents?”

Marcus looked up from his now empty plate, fingertips tracing the outline of his mug as if following the infinite map of the ceramic surface would provide him with the answer to Oliver’s question. “Shit happened,” he shrugged. “The War took a toll on everybody, some more than others. They made mistakes, I made mistakes.”

“We all made mistakes.” Oliver urged.

“Not you, Oliver. You were on the good side, the right side.”

“Surely that doesn’t matter, now though? Good side or bad side, it’s in the past.”

Marcus shook his head. “We should get going. I packed our clothes when I woke up. It’s half seven, we can check in to the Manor from eight. Wedding starts at noon. Unless there’s anything in here you want to take with you, we’re all set to go.”

“Why are you changing the subject?” Oliver pried, eyes yearning for an _answer_.

“Because you have enough going on today for me to drop my family issues on you.” Marcus retorted.

“And? It’ll be a distraction from everything else.”

“So that’s why you want to know? So you can use my troubles to ease your own issues?”

Oliver stared. “No! Of course not. We’re in this together, Marcus. Your problems are my problems. You’re my partner for Merlin’s sake.”

“But I’m _not,_ ” Marcus _snapped_ , metaphorically and literally. His eyes seemed to glaze over with an expression so unfamiliar Oliver didn’t recognise the boy sat opposite him. He tensed, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around his arms as his muscles convulsed under the pressure of the situation. “This is a game of pretend, Oliver. A game of pretend caused by a horrible set of circumstances. The sooner this façade is over, the better.”

“You’re my – one of my best friends, Marcus,” the silence that burned between them made Oliver feel nauseous. There was _something_ in Marcus’ eyes that begged Oliver to stop, but something in his body language that also coaxed him into an embrace instead. Marcus didn’t retract like Oliver expected; instead they sat there for a moment, exasperated bodies releasing similarly tense breaths in a sickening symphony. “I have nothing left to pack. We can leave.”

  ⚡

The Manor turned out to be everything Oliver had expected and more, if possible. The coast of Wales seemed the perfect location for any wedding to take place, but the Manor truly tipped it over the edge from excellence to sheer perfection. There were columns holding up an exquisite balcony laced with flora and vines, hanging over a pond decorated with lily pads and jumping fish. The white-stoned structure looked like something straight out of a romance novel, elegance grained into the silver window frames that perfectly reflected the sun down to the bunches of roses that outlined the walkway into the grand entrance. Oliver couldn’t bear to think about the cost of renting the place out for the two days or, even, how Percy would have afforded it.

“It’s something, huh.” Marcus’ voice pulled Oliver back to reality, away from the thoughts of what could have been if fate had worked life a little differently.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Oliver abruptly announced. “I didn’t mean to pry or upset you or suggest that your problems are a source distraction. Honestly, I’m freaking out and the thought of something new did excite me in a horrible, _horrible_ way and I’m so sorry. I should have shown more concern and treated you how you’ve treated me the last few months. I’d hate for our last couple of days as, you know, _us_ , to be spoiled by me being pathetic.”

“Uhm, okay,” Marcus uttered, sceptically glancing around the driveway. “I wasn’t expecting that. Not the typical response to me fawning over a building.”

“I just had to say it.”

“It’s okay. I accept your apology,” Marcus assured. “That’s only if you accept _my_ apology now. I don’t want to lose you after _us_ ends, despite what I said earlier. You are one of my best friends too and, fake dating or not, I like having you in my life. So I’m sorry for my outburst.”

“You’re forgiven.”

The two of them paused; the sound of icy waves crashing onto the shore in the distance almost washed away the underlying tension which had blossomed between them on the journey here. Oliver had forgotten what it felt like to have _someone_ on his side and he had no intention of letting his own foolish mistakes get in the way of this new chapter. Marcus was the silver lining in his life, the epilogue at the end of a novel which urged Oliver to keep pursuing to find his own happily ever after or, at least, his _ever after._

They hurled their bags inside the Manor, ceiling fans blowing a gentle breeze around everyone in the foyer. There were faces Oliver recognised; Hannah and Neville stood in one corner, sifting through their luggage with looks of confusion spread across their faces. Some gingers huddled by the staircase, clearly extended family of the Weasley’s all gathering at once. The mass of bags on the floor filled Oliver with temporary dread. If he were to bump in to Molly, George or, Merlin forbid, _Percy_ he would most likely combust there and then.

“Hey,” Marcus’ hand appeared on his back as if by magic. “We can head to our room. The lady at the front desk said that transport to the venue will be ready in a few hours. They want everyone seated by half eleven. We have some time to burn. Fancy the–”

“ _Oliver!_ ”

A force collided with Oliver’s left side, retracting him entirely from Marcus’ soothing grip. Instead of Marcus’ warmth and security the grip around his waist felt interrogative but still familiar. “Ginny, I _hate_ you. You just scared the hell out of me.”

“Really? Imagine how I felt when you decided to cut me out of your life a few months ago. I felt like I was sending all my correspondence to your assistant.” Ginny argued, arms still wound around Oliver’s middle.

“I’m sorry. I just… got overwhelmed. There was too much information coming at once. I just decided to shut everyone out. Well, except for one obvious person.”

They both glanced over to where Marcus had wandered; the decorative pattern of Marcus’ Hawaiian shirt stood proudly out among the white walls and ornate decoration of the room. Among the curving staircases and masterpiece art works hanging on the wall, Marcus looked like a modern statue spoiling the atmosphere. Except, Oliver thought, Marcus really couldn’t ruin anything. Marcus stood by a map of the area, eyes meaningfully flitting between where they placed in the Manor to where the ruins were labelled a short distance away. Oliver could only guess at what Marcus was planning, but his subconscious suggested perhaps it was better if he remained in the dark.

“He’s a good egg, isn’t he?”

“You hardly know him.” Oliver murmured, words muted by the mouthful of Ginny’s hair in his way.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t take a genius to see he’s good to you. I never would’ve paired you two together, but it’s nice. You should see the way he writes about you, Oliver. Every time I asked about his drink preferences or if he had a certain room he wanted to stay in, he always brought it back to you. Said whatever would make Oliver comfortable, whatever I can do to make Oliver happy. I don’t know what garden you searched to pick him, but I’m glad he bloomed at the right time.” Ginny lectured, voice softening as she caught sight of Marcus tracing the coastline on the map.

“That was sickeningly poetic, Ginny Weasley.”

Ginny snickered. “Ginny _Potter_ , thank you very much. And what can I say? It’s a wedding. And I _love_ , love. I’ll see you at the ceremony. I have a bridesmaid dress to put on.”

Like dust Ginny scattered, leaving a train of mystery and giggles in her wake. Oliver took that as his cue to join Marcus once again, a soft clearing of his throat to alert Marcus of his presence. “What are you doing?”

Marcus didn’t look away from the map, keeping his fingertip trailing different routes through the town. “Finding the best escape route from the ruins in case something goes wrong.”

“Merlin,” Oliver sighed, instinctively pressing his lips to Marcus’ neck. “I adore you, Marcus Flint. I don’t know how I roped you in to doing this for me.”

  ⚡

Oliver fiddled and he fiddled and he _fiddled._ His fingers danced over the buttons on his shirt, refined the lapels on his jacket and swept across the apex of the orange pocket square peeking over the edge of his chest. A strand of his hair tormented him by trickling to the centre of his forehead, forcing Oliver’s slightly greasy fingers to sweep it back to its rightful position. Not even the beauty of their room could take his mind off the situation. The gorgeous bed donning lace covers and floral scented pillowcases couldn’t ease the feeling of finality and dejection filling his stomach.

“Marcus,” he reluctantly called. Footsteps shuffled over tiled floors as Marcus’ head appeared behind the bathroom door. His shirt, surprisingly, had been buttoned all the way to the top, a half done tie lazily lying around the collar. Marcus’ fingers twisted his tie into a luxurious knot, eyes drawn together in confusion and worry as he descended into the main space of their room. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Sit.” Marcus beckoned: so they sat. Legs crossed on the carpeted floor of the room, staring securely at each other, Oliver couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be at that moment. Every time he caught a glance of orange on his skin he wanted to scratch it off. He felt branded by the memories of a past life which had pulled him down for so long, like some cattle belonging to the long list of people screwed over by Percy Weasley.

“Why am I here?” Oliver asked, fingertips silently drumming over the unnaturally white carpet. “Why did I say yes? I can’t believe I said yes. What sort of idiot would actually come to the wedding of his ex-partner?”

Marcus’ shoulders shrugged, fingertips lazily picking his cufflinks into position. “I don’t know, sugar. I don’t know why you said yes. Anything I say is a guess. I just assumed it was for closure, to be honest.”

“Closure?”

“Yeah,” Marcus continued. “Like, you know. Coming here, seeing all these people… seeing _him_. It’s a big deal. They were all a huge part of your life for two years. You coming here is like… it’s like you’re saying to him that you’re _fine_. Even an owl could tell you were hurt by the split, so showing up at his wedding is a blatant sign that you don’t need him and that you’re doing just fine on your own. And maybe seeing Percy with her, happy and in love, will finally get it through your thick skull that you deserve to move on with someone who will love you. Properly.”

Oliver had fallen into a state of distraction midway through Marcus’ small lecture, eyes following the movement of Marcus’ hands as he illustrated his points about love and closure and whatever else he was talking about. There was passion in his face, an expression of desperation for Oliver to understand everything that had been going on colouring the irises of Marcus’ eyes.

“Closure,” Oliver repeated. “That makes sense.”

Marcus nodded. His hands reached across the small between the two of them, fingers curving and pulling at Oliver’s tie. “You do an appalling Windsor knot, Oliver.”

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie?”

“I’m a Pureblood, only child wizard, Oliver. Luncheons and fancy meals were the centre of my universe as a kid. I could tie a tie before I could make a cup of tea.” Marcus explained, hands soothingly flattening over Oliver’s chest as he finished fussing.

“You’re the best.”

Marcus smiled. “I know,” he teased, offering his hand to pull Oliver from the crumpled state he was in on the floor. “Come on. It’s eleven, the cars are waiting downstairs.”

  ⚡

The ruins of Criccieth castle are found atop of a crisp hill, the broken stones outlining the peak following a gentle walk up a curving pathway. The ruins look out over the sea, the crashing of the waves acting as a melancholy soundtrack to the wedding guests as they arrived and took their seats. The ceremony space seemed rather small; pearl-coloured wooden chairs were set out in perfect lines within the boundary of some debris from the castle walls, facing in the direction of a windowless arch looking out to the watery expanse beyond.

The division between the bride and grooms side could be easily noticed by the thicket of ginger hair on the right-hand side of seats. Among the orchard of colour an occasional brunette could be seen dotting about the group of people, voices seamlessly coiling together as they all reminisced about family and how _lovely_ it was to be seeing Percy find someone he loves. At the front Marcus could see Molly, greying hair hidden under a beautiful bonnet made up of sunflowers and tulips. She exuberated elegance with a hint of rustic oozing its way into her presence as she shuffled from guest to guest, arms welcoming everyone with a crushing hug.

The left side contrasted that environment completely. The guests all stood prim and proper, not a crease or spec of dirt in sight. The mother of the bride smiled effortlessly as she accepted congratulations and well-wishes from witches dressed in cocktail-length dresses and wizards grimacing at the orange blazers draped over their shoulders. Oliver noticed how the dress code seemed to be more prominent on Percy’s side of the family, with some of Audrey’s guests obviously finding a way to incorporate as little orange as possible into their appearance.

“I wonder how they managed to find this place,” Marcus murmured. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Even I’d want to get married here.”

“You want to get married?” Oliver queried, not a care in the world that he’d completely bypassed Marcus’ question.

Marcus’ face fell to confusion. “Uhm, yes? Do you not?”

Oliver shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it for a while,” he lied, allowing the words to hang in the air before abruptly clearing his throat. “We should sit down. Ginny told me we were sort of in the middle of the seating area.”

Marcus nodded; playing the part beautifully, he laid his hand on Oliver’s back, gently pressing him forwards to find their seats and to avoid the gaze of clearly confused Weasley’s recognising the Scottish accent joining their orchestra of conversation. Their seats were a few in from the aisle, four rows back from the front. Oliver observed how their view would possibly be obstructed by the extravagant hats of other wedding guests, a realisation which soothed his racing heart.

“Oliver?” In a synchronised confusion both he and Marcus turned their heads right, searching for the source of the voice. “Oh, wow. Sorry! That was spooky. It’s almost like you’re the same person.”

“ _Hermione!_ ” Oliver’s voice positively lit up the clearing. There was a tone of pure joy and relief as he turned and enveloped Hermione in a tight embrace. “You look wonderful, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Oliver. I was sad to not see you at Hannah’s birthday a few weeks ago.” Smiled Hermione, fingers daintily tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah… I, uhm. Sort of took a break from the social season. And Quidditch has been really busy recently. I never managed to even think about coming.” Oliver explained, lips pulling into a taut line as he attempted to assure Hermione of his reason. It was a lie, of course. Oliver hadn’t opened a letter from handwriting he didn’t recognise for a very long time. Truthfully, he had no idea that it had been Hannah’s birthday and, if he had known, he most likely would have attended the celebrations. A dose of guilt injected itself into his bloodstream as he thought about what he’d missed as a result of his own stubbornness and reluctance to talk to anyone. A gentle squeeze of his knee washed those thoughts away, though, and the sight of Marcus curving into the conversation eased the guilt buzzing in his veins.

“He’s awful with post. Ginny can vouch for that, too. You should see his house, Hermione,” Marcus joked. “Letters everywhere. I’m amazed he opened the invitation for this to be honest.”

“Marcus?” Hermione posed. “ _Oh,_ of course. Plus one! This makes so much sense. I knew Ron was keeping something from me. This is such a nice surprise.”

Marcus positively beamed. His eyes crinkled at the corners and dimples engraved their way into the apples of his cheeks. Marcus’ fingertips gently tapped over Oliver’s knee as he looked at Hermione, taking in the way her hair fell like a waterfall over her shoulders and how the muted pastel orange colour of her dress deepened the colour of her eyes. She did look beautiful. “We were trying to keep it low-key for a while. When the invite came we’d not been together long, so it made sense to keep it private, you know?”

“Of course. Relationships are difficult these days. It’s just… it’s very nice to see you smiling, Oliver. And I’m sure that a particular other person here today will say the same thing,” Hermione assured. “I have to go back to my seat. But please come and say hi at the reception. See you later.”

Then, with a wave and a wash of her perfume as she span on her heels, Hermione had gone. An elderly couple who Oliver didn’t recognise filled the space, their seats creaking as they settled into the wooden frame. Oliver exhaled, a deep and calming breath that released a lot of built up thoughts and worries. He turned to Marcus, unsurprised to see him already looking back.

“I can do this.” Oliver said.

“You can.” Marcus confirmed, his kiss to Oliver’s hair interrupted by a chiming of bells. From the back of the clearing voices could be heard, with the first person to appear from behind some ruins being George. Clearly the best man, from the flower pinned to his blazer, he began to walk to length of the aisle, steps compressing the orange carpet further into the ground. Behind him followed a few other men, Ron in front of Bill and then Charlie, but Oliver’s eyes were trapped to one person in particular.

In the least cliché way possible it felt as though Oliver’s heart had been forced from his chest, leaving him still and breathless and unable to form a coherent thought. Not even Marcus’ reassuring grip on his thigh could distract Oliver from the sight of Percy Weasley walking down his aisle. Percy’s fingers were toying with the armhole of his shirt, material running between his fingertips as he stared at the floor. If Oliver were to look into his eyes he would be able to tell exactly what Percy was thinking, see into his heart and maybe, just maybe, get an answer to all of the questions he’d had for months. Oliver was glad to see Percy had his glasses on; he could recall many conversations they’d had about Percy wanting to find a different prescription or look into the Muggle remedy for partial blindness called laser surgery, or something like that. Oliver had always resisted, though, declaring that Percy looked wonderful and it wasn’t worth risking his safety for some dangerous sounding process that the Muggles were relying on.

The small group huddled by the arched window, exchanging handshakes and hugs and smiles with everyone around them. Oliver dared a glance to his side to look at Marcus, wanting and searching for a level of comfort in the eyes he’d found a friend in. But Marcus wasn’t looking, instead he was meticulously taking Percy in, gazing up and down to drain every detail from him. It was peculiar; Marcus’ head was tilted to the side, almost desperate to find every angle of the person he hardly knew yet had heard so many harsh things about.

“What are you doing?” Oliver whispered.

Marcus hummed, tearing his line of sight from Percy back to Oliver. “Just looking. He looks different to what I remember.”

“Different?” Oliver pushed. “In a good way?”

“Sort of?” Marcus shrugged. “He looks nice, I can see why you like him so much.”

“Liked.” Oliver corrected.

Marcus’ head tilted again. “What?”

“Liked,” repeated Oliver. “I don’t like him anymore.”

Marcus nodded, hand moving slightly to lie atop of Oliver’s own. “Good.”

Oliver wanted to ask more questions, find out _why_ Marcus thought it was ‘good’ that he no longer felt anything towards his ex. But before he could muster out a sentence that made sense among the emotions filtering through his mind, he found himself matching a glance with Percy. All words and thoughts seemed to ooze out of his mind as he just _looked_ , searching Percy’s gaze for some sort of story or feeling. But nothing came. They blinked, the seconds dragging on as though they were hours yet, still, Oliver couldn’t deduce anything. He felt like he was looking at a stranger, meeting eyes with someone in a bustling train station who he didn’t know and would never see again. The feeling was unfamiliar. Unenjoyable.

He was grateful when the charmed instruments began playing another melodic tune, drawing their eyes away from each other as Percy turned and Oliver stood. It was an unexpected relief that Oliver managed to stand up and hold his footing as the bridesmaids began to challenge the walk down the aisle. As their dresses fluttered about their ankles among the summers warm breeze Oliver caught himself looking at Audrey for the first time.

Her gown was, well, beautiful. An A-line cut hovering just above her ankles, the scalloped edge teasing her skin, perfectly accentuated her features. She had a glow about her, face and body emitting happiness and joy as she walked on the arm of her father. The dress seemed to be made up entirely of lace, the intricate designs encircling and hiding between fine beadwork which glittered as the suns midday rays grazed the details. Oliver admitted in his mind that she was truly gorgeous and, for a moment, wondered why Marcus told him Percy had downgraded all those months ago in the Three Broomsticks.

Audrey’s heels silently chipped away at the carpet as she joined Percy at the arch, gentle _sniffs_ echoing through the group as the music paused and the guests all hushed. The squeaking of chairs and scratching of taffeta on the wood masked murmurs among the guests, all comments about the beauty of her dress. From this angle, with Audrey facing away from him, Oliver noticed how the soles of her shoes were painted orange. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his cheeks.

“Please be seated,” the wedding officiant stepped forwards, hands clasped together in a pure expression of graciousness as he commandeered the groups attention. “On behalf of Percy and Audrey I’d would like to extend my sincerest thanks to you all for being a part of their journey. Every one of you has been invited here today to witness one of the purest and most respectable expressions of love and dedication in the world. I am sure that Audrey and Percy would agree with me when I say you have all played a part in their journey to find love and security in each other. It should be an honour to have been invited to share this occasion with them.”

The officiant paused as a ripple of applause sounded among the group. Oliver was sure that if he could see Molly’s face, there would be gentle tears streaming over her cheeks.

“To fall in love is one of life’s most sought after and world-altering experiences. It is something that most often strive to find. There is, perhaps, a stigma around relationships and love. It is often frowned upon if one doesn’t have a stable relationship. To say you don’t want marriage is almost a taboo opinion to have. The truth is, however, that love is different. No two people have identical experiences with love. There may be people in this group before me who have found themselves in such a peculiar circumstance as a result of love,” Marcus’ snickered underneath his breath; Oliver had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing aloud. “Regardless, love is unique. And the love we are witnessing today is unique. If there is anything to be learned from this ceremony it is that these two individuals before me are an example of true love, but not the _only_ example. No comparisons should be made, no envious glances or spiteful thoughts about their situation to your own. Life is… unusual. Love even more so. We should look to these two today and thank them for loving each other, defending each other and having the sincerity in their heart for wanting to share this occasion with us all.”

Oliver found himself nodding to that. He – in the moment, of course – turned his hand around to twine his fingers around Marcus’ own.

“Before I continue I have been asked by the couple to take a moment for those who aren’t here today,” the officiant gestured to his side; a line of photos rose to the air, spacing in front of the group showing photos of wizards and witches who passed, mainly, during the War. On the far right Fred Weasley’s face twisted into a smile, Tonks and Remus candidly looking to something off to the side in their photographs. “Please join me in this silence.”

A lump rose in Oliver’s throat at the sight of the photos. If there was one thing that he disliked most about the wizarding world, it would be the photos that moved. Oliver just found them to be a suffocating reminder that these people were no longer around and that, in reality, these miniscule objects were the only way to ensure they were never forgotten. It felt wrong to be sat there while those closer to Percy were drifting in another plane of life. Oliver had a profound realisation that his seat should be filled by Fred or Dumbledore, even. Not him. Not Oliver who had been a temporary inclusion in Percy’s life.

“Thank you,” the officiant spoke again. “Percy and Audrey have each selected one reading they wish to share with you before they make their vows. The first comes from Miss Lovelady. She describes this as her favourite poem, one which her grandmother used to read to her.”

Oliver noticed a grey-haired lady in one of the frames smile as the photos glided back to the chair on which they were first placed. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,” the officiant began. Oliver wanted to pay attention, truly, but his mind wandered as he took in how Audrey and Percy looked at each other. Their eyes were painted the colour of love and adoration, cheeks rosy as though they were school kids embarking on their first date to Hogsmeade. As the lines of the poem fizzled into the air, they never looked apart, the only break in contact being when they blinked. “If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

The officiant breathed. Oliver glanced to Marcus, ignoring how his heart fluttered slightly at the small smile on his lips. It was hard for any person to not feel slightly happy at a wedding, let alone one where it was obvious as to how strongly the two lovers felt about each other.

“And now from Mr Weasley. A short extract from a poem he recently came across and has described as the written way he would describe his love for Audrey,” he continued, clearing his throat. “I fear no fate, for you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world, for beautiful you are my world, my true. And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.”

Oliver shuffled in his seat, instinctively applying a little force to the grip he held on Marcus’ hand. Marcus reciprocated with a gentle touch, his thumb running over Oliver’s knuckles as a reminder to breathe.

“And now I ask for the couple to face each other as they make their vows,” Oliver glanced to Audrey’s mother, now holding a handkerchief to catch the falling tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Will you, Percy Weasley, take Audrey Lovelady to be your wife? Will you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? Will you love her and honour her all the days of your life?”

“I will.” Percy affirmed, voice shaking among the emotion bound to the two simple words.

“Will you, Audrey Lovelady, take Percy Weasley to be your husband? Will you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? Will you love him and honour him all the days of your life?” The officiant repeated.

“I will.” Her voice sounded sweeter than the finest cup of tea, like honey rolling off her tongue as though no other words should ever be spoken again.

George stepped forward at that point, bearing the rings on a velvet cushion. The transition onto Percy and Audrey’s fingers seemed effortless. It was a natural move and, for the first time during the ceremony, Oliver couldn’t imagine himself being in Audrey’s position. For the most part he had imagined standing there, giving a reading which encompassed the love he had felt for Percy. He imagined walking down the carpet, looking to see his parents and Percy’s staring at the pair with a level of adoration and familial acceptance. But exchanging a ring, a ring binding him to Percy and only Percy for the rest of his waking days, was beyond Oliver’s imagination.

“I wish you both a life of infinite joy and love. I hope you have years of dedication, delighting in the company of each other and the friends and family you have chosen to witness your special day. May you respect each other and watch each other succeed in every way, assured by the support and love you will each provide. May your challenges wash away, and may your days be filled with laughter, imagination, trust and love,” the officiant concluded. “It is with great honour and delight that I declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

The sight of the kiss froze Oliver internally for a moment. It felt wrong to witness such an intimate setting while his thoughts were plagued with negativity and selfish ideas. But, underneath all the pessimism swimming in Oliver’s mind, there was the reassurance that it never could have been him stood up there. He found himself trusting fate for the first time in a while. Whoever he was meant to find, whenever he was supposed to stand in front of a group of his friends declaring his love to another person, Oliver trusted that fate would make it incredibly obvious.

“Oliver,” Marcus intercepted. “You did it, sugar.”

The look of indescribable pride etched into Marcus’ face lit Oliver’s heart. Oliver felt like a moth to a flame, the flame being Marcus’ happiness and smile. The sight of this _boy_ sat in front of him, Hawaiian shirt contrasting to his overly intricate tie, with a smile purer than the wings of a dove, enamoured Oliver to a level he never thought possible.

“I did it.” Oliver didn’t know what compelled him to lean across and leave a kiss to Marcus’ lips. All he knew was that it felt right and that Marcus was definitely kissing him back.

  ⚡

The ride back to the manor felt incredibly different to the one earlier. Instead of worry and anxiety plaguing the car there were feelings of joy and conclusion. Oliver, though still nervous about the events of the reception, felt as though he had closure to the last two years of his life. In a confusing and convoluted way, with no words exchanged between himself and Percy, Oliver knew that he would be okay and that his world had found a state of equilibrium again. In the presence of Marcus, _wonderful_ Marcus always eager to make sure Oliver was calm and happy, Oliver felt a flicker of optimism surrounding his future.

The room for the reception had been divided perfectly in half. The rear half of the elegant ballroom remained empty save for a small stage and lights flying around the ceiling, clearly the area designated for dancing as the afternoon drew to a close. The other half donned circular tables, centrepieces of extravagant orange roses and sunflowers surrounded by rows of cutlery all pointing towards the head table. It was a gorgeous arrangement, the tablecloths a shining white under the glimmering lights above. There were small cherubs floating through the air, carrying cups and utensils to the tables occupied by guests. Those in attendance had almost tripled from the ceremony, with the rest of the wedding party finally arriving for the evening celebrations.

Oliver and Marcus had found themselves seated rather close to the front among others who were at Hogwarts while they were. Opposite sat Neville and Hannah fawning over the flora presented in the middle of the table. On Oliver’s other side sat Hermione and Ron, with Harry and Angelina completing the group. The setting felt like an unconventional school reunion, their aged faces looking at each other with expressions of disbelief that they were all gathered at such an unusual event.

Underneath the table Marcus’ hand resumed its rightful position over Oliver’s knee, tracing patterns of stars and hearts and circles into the material of Oliver’s trousers. Above the table, though, Oliver allowed his arm to slink across the back of Marcus’ chair, fingertips gently coiling around the curve of Marcus’ collar. The last course of the dinner had just concluded, empty plates scattered with the smallest remnants of food and dishevelled cutlery scraping over the porcelain surfaces.

“That was an immense dessert,” Harry broke the unanimous silence first. It was odd seeing the infamous Harry Potter without Ginny by his side. Over the last few years they had definitely become a package, if you saw one you knew that the other would be right by their side. Never in front and never behind, they were always equal. But Ginny sat at the head table, filling in as head bridesmaid. “I knew they had good taste in food, but that was something new.”

“Didn’t they just come back from Paris? Surely they tasted it in a French restaurant, it’s too good to be a meal from home.” Hannah suggested, delicately sipping at her glass of Butterbeer.

“Paris?” Oliver asked.

“They tend to go on weekends away to these places all the time. It’s hard to meet them on a Saturday since they’re almost always somewhere else.” Hermione laughed.

“It was a beautiful service,” it was now Marcus who was commenting. “Like, gorgeous. I’ve only been to a couple of weddings in my time, but that might top it. I mean, Shakespeare? How gorgeous.”

“You read Shakespeare?” Hermione inquired.

“I love Shakespeare,” smiled Marcus. “I intern at the Prophet, hoping to cross into article journalism at some point. I deeply enjoy reading. Sonnet 116 has always been one of my favourite poems. I have to speak to Audrey about it at some point.”

Oliver tilted his head to the side, drinking in the look of Marcus’ profile as his face curved as a result of the passion he had for the conversation. With his eyebrows raised and eyes wide with interest, Marcus had never looked so wonderful in Oliver’s opinion.

“Why are you looking at me all funny?” Marcus asked.

“I’m not.” Oliver retorted.

“You are, sugar.”

“You look really nice when you’re passionate about something,” Oliver explained, letting his fingers drift from Marcus’ collar to gently sweep across his neck instead. “Like, your eyes go all happy and stuff like that.”

Oliver definitely noticed a blush on Marcus’ cheeks, the tan colour blending into a rose shade instead. “You look really nice all the time, though.”

“That has nothing to do with what I just said.”

Marcus shrugged, lips pressing a delicate kiss to Oliver’s temple. “I don’t care.”

Oliver went to retort but the sound of George tapping his fork to his glass drew all eyes to him instead. “Hi, hi. Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt but it’s _finally_ my chance to talk about old Perce here,” George grinned, unfurling a piece of parchment he’d taken from his pocket. “I’ll try and keep this short, for his sake and mine. But if you want any embarrassing stories about this man just come to me when I’m a few whiskey’s down.”

Oliver laughed as Angelina’s head dropped to the table. “My husband is so embarrassing. Merlin help our child when they arrive.”

“So,” George continued. “Percy is one of a kind, as you all will know. I never thought I’d be seeing his wedding, if I’m honest, because I never thought he could love anything or anyone as much as his work. I can recall all of his relationships, as there’s only been three of them. And I will take a moment to talk about them all, because they’re important to the point I’m trying to get at. Firstly I apologise to the other two survivors of Percy’s love as they are both sat in the crowd right now.”

George’s eye caught Oliver’s, pausing with a smile before drifting to Penelope Clearwater sitting at a table a few away from Oliver’s own.

“His first girlfriend came in school. He was very secretive about her. Locked up in his room, not wanting to tell us. It was weird, I didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to tell us about this love he’d found. We all know Percy likes a little boast every now and again, so it felt wrong thinking he didn’t want to brag about this relationship. Regardless, he was very quiet about it. When they broke up it hurt him, and I didn’t expect to see him that emotional. His first boyfriend came afterwards and, yes, we were all as surprised as some of you may be,” George laughed; Oliver felt Percy’s gaze on him, but he refused to match it in fear of letting out some emotion he didn’t want to explore. “And they were good together, really. It was unexpected but nice and, for the first time, Percy was open about it. He talked to us, introduced us. This person became an extension of the family and, I hope, they know that they still are. I felt the love they had, I wanted the love they had. It was a big step for Percy, not only in finding himself but in expressing himself. None of us expected it to come to an end. But, you know, things happen.”

Oliver exhaled.

“Those two people played a pivotal part in Percy’s personality. Without them we wouldn’t be here celebrating Percy and Audrey today. If it wasn’t for the girlfriend or the boyfriend Percy would not have realised that he deserves love. He deserves to express his passion for people and love the same way he does work and success. I am grateful to Audrey for being the final piece of the puzzle in Percy’s life. She has made him feel happy and secure enough to feel like he can be open with every one about his feelings. For Percy, that’s a big deal. I’m grateful to the boyfriend and girlfriend for helping Percy to love himself and to stop feeling guilty about having a partner. They, too, are pieces in the puzzle that will remain forever,” George continued. “My point in this unconventional best man speech is that I am damn proud of my brother. He has come a long way from the hyper-aware, success-seeking lad he once used to be. And this day, this wedding, and the woman beside him are a true testament to the person he has grown into. Thank you.”

The explosion of applause that bounced off the room could only be rivalled by the sound found in the Great Hall as the winner of the House Cup is revealed. Oliver winced at the level of noise, the whooping and clapping, which sealed George’s speech with a certificate of approval.

Oliver hadn’t expected to be mentioned in the speech or, more importantly, at all during the day. He felt he was just a guest, a sore thumb sticking out among a sea of people who had played a part in the relationship in some way. Oliver didn’t really know either of them, had never seen Percy or Audrey interact and, still, felt confused as to why he was there. A mention and an expression of thanks was not a thought that crossed Oliver’s mind. But, now, it was one that lingered as the cherubs lifted the plates and took away the décor of the tables. The white tablecloths were replaced by shining, silver ones, twinkling like stars as the lights soaring above turned on and cast coloured glows over the faces of everyone in the room.

As the reception began a band stood onto the stage, music piercing the before tranquil and sophisticated setting of the ballroom. Those on the head table stepped down, Percy and Audrey among those who immediately dispersed onto the dance floor. Their own table quickly cleared, couples reuniting with smiles and hugs while others drifted to the balcony overlooking the grounds or to the photographer in the corner.

Oliver and Marcus, however, remained seated. “It’s over, Oliver.”

“I know,” Oliver exhaled, turning in his seat to look directly at Marcus. “We did it.”

“You did it.” Marcus corrected.

Oliver’s head shook. “No. _We_ did it. I just… I can’t believe it’s all done, basically. Like, I’ve been panicking about this day for months. But here I am, on the other side of the battlefield somehow not wounded.”

“You deserve a drink,” Marcus stood. “I’ll go get you some rum.”

Marcus’ space only lasted mere seconds as it seemed Molly Weasley had been stalking the perimeter for a chance to intercept. She dove into the seat, eyes gleaming with joy as she looked at Oliver.

“Wow, hi.” Oliver jumped, edging away slightly in hesitation of the conversation.

“Hi, love,” Molly’s greeting soothed him instantly. Her words resonated like a cup of hot chocolate on a winter’s day, melting away the cool and dampness to bring a sense of warmth and home instead. “It’s so wonderful to see you. I am beyond glad you’re here.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t want me here.” Oliver chuckled.

“Why would I not want you here?”

“Someone told me you suggested Percy not invite me. Or is that not true?” Oliver asked.

Molly’s head shook, the hat on her head shuffling with the abrupt movement. “I didn’t mean it in a cruel way. I thought him inviting you was an awful idea. He walked out on you and broke your heart, Oliver. I don’t know how he thought it was sensible to then invite you. All I could imagine was your face as you opened the invite and took it all in. He moved on too fast, it wasn’t fair to put the pressure on you.”

“Why did he invite me, Molly?” Oliver almost begged, words laced with desperation.

“You’d need to ask him yourself, love. He was just… adamant that you needed to be here,” Molly shrugged, looking up as a presence joined the table. “Oh, Marcus. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take your space. I just needed to speak to Oliver.”

“No worries, Mrs Weasley.” Marcus smiled, taking the other seat beside Oliver instead. He placed a perfectly full glass of Red Currant Rum in front of Oliver, free hand then winding its way around Oliver’s arm.

“Don’t be silly, Marcus. I’ll always be Molly,” she smiled, eyes glancing down to where their hands were linked. “When did you two get together?”

Marcus took his cue perfectly, chair scraping across the floor as he edged into the conversation. “We met at New Years. Kind of on and off for a while as we lived far away from each other. I’d say we’ve been officially together for three or four months… would you agree?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah. Around the time I got the invitation for the wedding is when we sealed the deal, I suppose. I was reluctant to commit to something after what happened. Marcus understood that completely, which I was very grateful for.”

“New Years? That’ll be a great story to tell at your wedding.”

Oliver choked on his drink, breath catching in his throat as he tried desperately to clear his airway.

“Oh! I’m so sorry–” Molly cried, hand rubbing Oliver’s back as he recovered. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you. I’m guessing you haven’t, uhm, spoken about that?”

“Not yet. Not in detail, anyway.” Marcus answered, summoning a glass of water for Oliver to sip at.

“I’m sorry, Molly. That just caught me by surprise. It wasn’t too long ago that I was talking about marriage with Percy. The word hits me in a sensitive place.” Oliver explained, graciously draining the water.

“I understand. Now, I should go and find my son and daughter-in-law. But, truly. It is wonderful to see you here. Don’t leave before getting a photo with me. I will see you later.” Molly pressed a kiss to Oliver’s hair, leaving a gentle squeeze to Marcus’ shoulder before scuttling back to the mass of people on the dancefloor.

“She’s so wonderful, isn’t she?” Oliver sighed.

“Indeed. A mother’s love is the best love, always.” Marcus murmured. Oliver noticed a catch in his voice, eyes staring longingly at the liquid in his cup.

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.

“I miss my mother.” Was Marcus’ simple reply.

Oliver paused, lifting their hands to press a kiss to Marcus’ knuckles. “She’s not at home, is she?”

Marcus shook his head, eyes falling shut. “My dad was taken to Azkaban when they rounded up all the Death Eaters after the war. My mother… she never was one. She fell ill soon after. I only had to make a couple of trips to St Mungo’s before it was all over.”

Oliver leaned across, tilting Marcus’ chin up to press a firm kiss to his lips. He had no words to express his condolences, nor did he want to attempt to voice them. He just hoped the action would portray some of his feelings, would tell Marcus that Oliver was there and would always be there. “I need to go to the restroom. When I get back we’re going to dance this whole evening away. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Oliver smiled, giving Marcus’ hand a gentle squeeze as he rose and sifted his way between empty chairs and tables to the restrooms opposite. The music from the band and bundle of conversation drifted to a pleasing distance as Oliver pushed open the door to the restroom and absorbed the welcoming silence and chill.

Oliver paused in front of the mirror, examining the way his hair had fallen out of place and pocket square shifted off-centre. He needed a moment. Looking at himself in the penetrating light of the restroom, white tiles foregrounding him as the only form with any colour, felt interrogative, as though the world wanted him to take examine his face.

Oliver felt that he looked tired. From three months ago he knew his eyes had sagged slightly, the light fading as young adulthood absorbed all his joy and happiness. He felt aged, the stress from this day seeping into his veins and wrinkling his skin. There was still something, though. Some element of life burning in his eyes and his heart that urged him to smile and get back to where he was before _this_ all happened. It was like there was a source of light keeping him from drifting into a dangerously shadowy part of life to which he’d sunk after the War.

The sound of the door opening pulled Oliver’s gaze from his face; in the reflection of the mirror he saw Percy and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Oliver remained where he was, eyes following as Percy stepped into the restroom and stood to the sink beside him. Percy’s fingers drummed over the edge of the sink, the echoes of his footsteps dismissing into nothingness as they looked at each other through the mirrors.

“Hi.” It was Oliver who broke the silence, allowing a shaky breath to escape between his lips.

“Hey.” Came Percy’s simple reply. Under the light his wedding ring gleamed, the shininess of the new metal becoming the obvious elephant in the room as both of their gazes fell to the band around Percy’s finger.

“Congratulations.”

Percy drew his bottom lip between his teeth, free hand spinning the ring around. “Thank you.”

There was a silence, sickening and long and Oliver knew it was his only chance to get the answers he had been yearning for. “Perce… why did you invite me?” He finally asked, hands sinking into his pockets as the question hung in the air.

“I…” Percy considered, fingertips whitening as they now clenched onto the sink. “I don’t know. It felt wrong to not have you here.”

“But _you_ left _me_ , Percy. If you didn’t want to be with me then why did you want me at your wedding? To show off? To remind me of what could have been?”

“Of course not!” Percy replied, exasperated as his reasons weightlessly and meaninglessly bounced off the walls. “I never gave you a reason to why I walked out. And I knew I would never have the chance to give you a reason. I hoped by inviting you here that you would… I don’t know, see that we weren’t meant to be.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Oliver’s bluntness surprised even himself. For someone who had spent sleepless nights tossing these questions over in his mind, Oliver didn’t expect to be as composed as he was receiving the answers he'd been longing for months.

“I know,” Percy groaned. “I hoped the invite would allow us to both find peace. I wanted you to come so you could see the family again. I never gave you the space or respect to say goodbye or to close off conversations with people who love you. And that was cruel of me. I wanted you to come and to resolve loose ends with my parents, my siblings, with _me._ ”

“You could have just invited me to the Burrow, Percy. Do you know how hard it’s been to come here?”

“You could have said no.”

A pause.

“You know I couldn’t have done that.” Oliver replied.

“I am so sorry, Oliver. I loved you, and at a level I still do. And I know there is nothing I can do to make up for the pain I caused. I wanted to apologise and provide you with a warm space to get your answers. And I hope this evening is giving you that opportunity,” Percy finished. “And I hope you and your partner will make the most of the night.”

Oliver looked away from the mirror for the first time, staring directly at Percy. “My partner?”

“Marcus?”

“Oh,” Oliver sighed. “Right, yeah.”

“You look really happy around him. You match each other well, I think.” Percy said, easing the conversation on.

“He makes me happy. I care about him a lot,” Oliver spoke, the truths falling gracefully into the space between them. “Thank you for having me here tonight, Percy. I really appreciate it, all of it. From the two years we shared to the future’s we’ll have apart. I’m honoured to be one of the pieces in the jigsaw of your life.”

Percy smiled for the first time, a sliver of his teeth appearing from between his lips. With a nod, a symbol of mutual peace and understanding, Percy left the bathroom and, ultimately, left Oliver’s life. For good.

  ⚡

As Oliver returned to the reception he found Marcus on the balcony, leaning on the railing as his eyes searched the darkened scenery. Even though night had fallen and the stars hung in the sky, the outlines of trees and gentle sounds of nature mingling in the greenery could still be sensed. The scent of champagne drifted to the sky as Oliver rested beside Marcus, matching his position limb for limb.

They stood in silence for a while, drinking in the scent of heavy champagne in the air and washing in the evening breeze that teased their cheeks. Oliver watched how Marcus lifted a glass to his lips, the liquid effortlessly slipping down his throat. The glass hardly touched the railing as a cherub swept by and ushered the glass away.

“I just spoke to Percy.” Oliver commented.

“What?” Marcus asked, angling his body slightly to better look at Oliver. “What did he say?”

“Told me why he invited me, what he hoped to achieve by having me here.” Oliver shrugged.

“Was his explanation worth all the stress you’ve gone through?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, not really. I don’t even think he really knows why he had me here, to be honest. But I’ve got my closure, I’ve lived to tell the tale and I’m ready to move on in my life. Wherever that may take me.”

“Where do you think it will take you?” Marcus continued, now looking back out to the grounds below. A silhouette of a fox danced across the dark bushes, slinking through the night with precision and determination. Oliver wondered where it would be going, home to a family or out into the streets to hunt. Wherever it was going, Oliver thought, he hoped it found its way home.

“Back to Dorset. Back to Quidditch. Maybe I’ll start answering my mail, now.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Marcus interjected, swallowing thickly. “I meant where will it take you romantically. You’re ready to move on… with who?”

“Who do you want me to move on with?” Oliver asked.

“Why does who I want play any part in your decision?”

Oliver shrugged. He turned to face Marcus, breathing in every ounce of the man in front of him. His shirt was now unbuttoned again, tie stuffed into the back pocket of his trousers. The situation reminded Oliver heavily of the first time they were reunited, only without a bar blocking them. If he wanted, Oliver could reach out and brush his fingers over Marcus’ arm, lace their fingers together and it would all make sense. Under the gentle glow of fairy lights hanging across the balcony, Oliver finally felt as though he could clearly see his future.

“Because I know who I want to move on with, but I’d like to check if they’re on the same page before I embarrass myself.”

“Me.” Marcus’ response wasn’t a question despite the slight nervous tone. There was an essence of certainty in Marcus’ utterance, as though he knew as well as Oliver that _this_ was how things were supposed to be.

“You.” Oliver agreed.

From the ballroom notes of a ballad drifted into the air, the melody bunching into clouds of inspiration and beauty as they ascended into the cloudless sky above. Oliver imagined the couples inside, arms looped around each other as they swayed as a unit, the surroundings blurred as their vision focused on the person they loved. He wondered what it would be like to feel that again, to hold his heart and his home in his arms. It was as he looked at Marcus, eyes glazed with nervousness but also excitement, that he thought he was on his way to getting there again.

“I’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone in my life who I wanted to see every day,” Oliver started. “I’d gotten so used to being alone that it felt more natural to shut away the world than to welcome in anything new. But then you showed up, and I stopped enjoying the loneliness.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oliver murmured. “Reading your letters, seeing your face. You just stand out, Marcus. You’re like...”

A tear in your favourite t-shirt that you accidentally caused but didn’t want to fix, his subconscious continued. A cloud in an otherwise clear sky, foreshadowing a storm but promising a new beginning. A flat note among a chorus of a perfect harmony, a daisy in a field of dandelions.

“I’m like?” Marcus urged.

Oliver didn’t respond; he allowed himself to step towards Marcus, fingertips finding the buttons on his shirt as he breathed. Oliver didn’t know which metaphor he liked best, which one would encompass the hope that Marcus had brought to his life. He resorted to kissing him instead, allowing his actions to overpower his words which would most likely be meaningless ramblings anyway.

There was a warmth to this kiss, something that hadn’t been there before. Every other action of intimacy they’d shared had been a performance, a spectacle to convince people of a romance that hadn’t been there. Orchestrating love didn’t have the same effect as _feeling_ it, Oliver realised.

“Excuse how bad this is going to sound,” Marcus pulled away for a moment. “But I’m really glad that Percy Weasley dumped you.”

They dissolved into gentle, tipsy laughter. Oliver’s fingertips fell to Marcus’ wrist, hovering for a moment before slotting in the gaps between his fingers. Though the closure of the evening illustrated the ending of one chapter of his life, Oliver knew that it simultaneously opened up a new book entirely. With this boy before him, who came into his life under the most confusing circumstances, Oliver felt excited for the future. He knew he could look beyond work and friendship and just getting by because now, _now_ , he had a new piece to add to his jigsaw.

“So am I, honey. So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, there's that. I hope you found some enjoyment in this and that, if necessary, it made your day a little brighter. feel free to share the flintwood love in the comments or over on my tumblr! I love chatting about these guys, and I especially love this little story I concocted. 
> 
> i'll see you in july after my exams finish. sending love, light and joy your way.


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